Then lowered them.
Silence.
Perfect silence.
Her breathing sounded too loud to her own ears.
She stared at the keys.
She was afraid to turn around.
Then a chair scraped.
Hartford stood fully.
He began clapping.
Slow.
Deliberate.
One clap.
Two.
Three.
Another person joined.
Then another.
Within seconds, the restaurant exploded.
Everyone stood.
Applause crashed through the room.
Emma turned.
She froze.
People were on their feet.
Waiters.
Guests.
Kitchen workers.
The host.
Even several people standing near the lobby.
A woman shouted:
“Bravo!”
Another:
“Again!”
Emma stared.
Her eyes filled.
She had forgotten what applause felt like.
No.
That was not true.
She remembered exactly.
That was why it hurt.
For one terrible second, she saw her parents in the crowd.
Not really.
Memory.
Her mother standing first.
Her father clapping too loudly.
Emma covered her mouth.
Tears escaped.
Richard stood several feet away.
Nobody looked at him.
He had vanished inside the scene he created.
Hartford walked toward Emma.
“What is your name?”
She wiped her cheek.
“Emma.”
“Emma what?”
“Rivers.”
Hartford stopped.
His face changed.
“Emma Rivers.”
She nodded.
He knew the name.
Not immediately from newspapers.
From programs.
Competitions.
A Juilliard showcase three years earlier.
A girl described by one professor as possessing “rare technical discipline combined with extraordinary narrative instinct.”
Hartford whispered:
“You studied with Elena Vasquez.”
Emma stared.
“Yes.”
He smiled with disbelief.
“I knew it.”
Richard looked between them.
“What?”
Hartford turned toward the room.
“This young woman was trained at Juilliard.”
A murmur spread.
Emma looked down.
Richard’s mouth opened.
“No.”
Hartford turned toward him.
“No?”
Richard looked at Emma.
“That doesn't make sense.”
She met his eyes.
“What part?”
He glanced toward her clothes.
The mistake became visible before he spoke.
Emma understood anyway.
“You mean because I look like this.”
Richard recovered poorly.
“I mean your circumstances.”
Emma stood from the bench.
Her knees weakened slightly.
Hartford caught her elbow.
“Easy.”
The restaurant manager hurried forward.
“Food.”
“Please.”
“Sit.”
Emma looked toward the plate Richard had pulled away earlier.
Suddenly she could not bear the sight.
“I’m okay.”
She was not.
Hunger and adrenaline collided.
The floor shifted.
Hartford guided her into a chair.
The manager immediately ordered:
“Soup.”
“Bread.”
“Water.”
“Something light.”
Richard stepped closer.
“This has become ridiculous.”