Near the orchestra, Theo had reached Samuel Crowe.
The conductor lowered his baton slightly while the musicians continued the repeating passage.
Theo held up the paper comet.
Samuel bent to hear him.
Vivian spoke into her earpiece.
Two security employees began moving from opposite sides of the room.
Mara saw them.
“Theo!” she called.
This time he turned.
Everyone nearest the orchestra turned with him.
Samuel raised one hand.
The musicians completed the passage and stopped.
The silence spread outward through the ballroom.
Dancers slowed in confusion. Conversations ended. Hundreds of faces turned toward the small boy standing beneath the orchestra platform with a folded paper comet in his hand.
Samuel addressed him quietly.
“What exactly are you asking me to do?”
Theo pointed toward Mara.
“Let her finish it.”
Murmurs moved through the room.
Richard’s face lost color.
Vivian whispered, “This is precisely what I was trying to prevent.”
Samuel looked at Mara.
She wanted to disappear.
She also wanted to cross the ballroom, take the baton and demand the music that had been waiting inside her for five years.
Those two desires collided so violently that she could barely breathe.
Samuel stepped down from the platform.
The guests watched him walk toward Mara.
Nobody understood what was happening.
Mara did.
That frightened her more.
Samuel stopped several feet away.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said.
He held out the conductor’s baton.
Mara did not take it.
“No.”
“You wrote the transition.”
“That was years ago.”
“The notes have not expired.”
“I’m not prepared.”
Samuel glanced around the ballroom.
“Neither are they.”
A few guests laughed uncertainly.
Richard stepped forward.
“Samuel, this is not appropriate.”
Samuel turned to him.
“I’m asking Mara whether she would like to conduct the final section.”
“She hasn’t rehearsed.”
“She knows the score.”
“This is a public event, not an experiment.”
Mara watched Samuel’s expression harden.
Before he could reply, she spoke.
“Ask me.”
Richard turned.
“What?”
“You’re speaking about whether I should do it. Samuel is standing here with the baton. Ask me what I want.”
“I’m trying to protect you from being placed in an impossible position.”
“You’re placing me in one now.”
Richard lowered his voice.
“Mara, if this goes wrong, the entire room will watch.”
“They are already watching.”
“That is exactly my concern.”
“No. Your concern is that they might see me fail.”
“I don’t want you humiliated.”
“Then stop treating every decision I make as a possible humiliation.”
The silence around them deepened.
Richard’s face tightened.
Mara knew she had hurt him.
She also knew that avoiding his pain had become another cage.
Samuel still held the baton.
Theo stood beside the platform, the paper comet pressed against his chest.
Mara looked at him.
“Did you plan this?”
“No.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I thought he would bring you to the orchestra.”
“Why didn’t you ask me first?”
Theo’s confidence disappeared.
He looked down.
“I should have.”
The simple admission changed something inside her.
He had made a mistake.
He had also listened when she named it.
Adults rarely did that so quickly.
Mara turned to Samuel.
“I don’t want to go onto the platform.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I’ll conduct from here.”
Samuel handed her the baton.
Richard’s lips parted, but no words came.
Mara positioned her chair so she faced the orchestra directly. Guests moved away, creating an open space between her and the musicians.
The dance floor became still.
Mara placed the baton across her lap.
Her hand was trembling.
Theo noticed.
“Are you scared?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to stop?”
The question was quiet enough for only Mara to hear.
She looked at him.
“No.”
“Then what do you need?”
Mara inhaled slowly.
“Four beats of silence.”
Theo nodded with complete seriousness.
He turned toward the crowd and lifted his hand.
The murmurs faded.
Mara closed her eyes.
For five years, people had told her what courage looked like.
Courage was surviving.
Courage was smiling.
Courage was attending public events.
Courage was accepting help graciously.
Nobody had told her that courage could also look like wanting something again.
She opened her eyes.
The orchestra waited.
Samuel stood to one side.
Not in front of her.
Not behind her.
To one side.
Mara lifted the baton.
One beat.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The cellos entered.
The sound rolled through the ballroom, low and warm. Mara’s left hand rose, guiding the violas above them. The violins followed. The melody gathered itself, no longer cautious, no longer polite.
Her hands remembered.
Not perfectly.