The Good Choice

By Michelle Hall

Without her sight, music paints the world in color.

 

For Viviane Caddel, blindness has never held her back from pursuing her passion for music. When a new treatment promises to restore her sight, Viviane believes her life will be complete. As her vision improves, her prodigal piano skills falter, as does her marriage. In the darkness, it was much easier to ignore the problems in her life. 

 

Music has always been her safe place. Music has always been her home. With the support of Jeffrey, an old friend, she fights to keep her musical talent alive while navigating the uncovered turmoil of her life. Viviane must decide who she is and which life she truly needs. How does she live a life devoid of passion?

 

"The Good Choice" is a heart-wrenching tale of love, loss, and the power of perseverance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Hall
• Release date: Nov 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223212522

Book preview

Chapter One

Mom said I was born with sight until one day she found me in our backyard, rolling on the ground screaming, and holding my hands over my eyes. No one understood what was happening to me then because there was no evidence of physical damage. The absence of my vision remained the ultimate enigma to doctors, my parents, and anyone who knew about the loss.

A few of the experts suspected an insect bite, maybe a spider. Though, no evidence was ever uncovered that triggered my sudden blindness. The mystery remained unsolved, but I was gifted with an innate skill.

My talent for playing the piano flourished. I had believed I’d headline concert halls, playing for throngs of people. But instead, here I was, wincing every time Anthony missed a note.

That was enough thinking for now about the brief history of my life because I needed to shift my focus back onto my student, Anthony, who was butchering another Beethoven classic. I winced with each missed note, every error of hitting a flat when it was supposed to be sharp. Anthony, my sweet, charming pupil, abandoned the poor misfired notes. I twirled my index finger in my hair, as I usually did when trying to not interrupt my students playing, resisting the crushing urge to ask them to scoot aside and demonstrate how to play the flowery piece easily. I was the definition of what it meant to play by ear. My ears and touch were my tools to create a steering wheel for finding the correct sound of hitting the proper notes.

I loved playing the piano; I’d be utterly lost without it. Music was my first love and passion. Of course, when I became a wife to William, and then a mother, my priorities shifted, and I wasn’t always running to the instrument to tickle its keys whenever I had a free moment. But I 70still made time to play and to teach. Both devices were part of my daily routine, and I made it a point not to abandon this essential part of me.

How am I doing? Anthony asked, his screeching pubescent voice cutting through the incorrect keys.

I cleared my voice and proceeded cautiously. Anthony? Have you practiced at all since our last lesson? I already knew the answer but had to ask the question. In all my years of teaching, I picked up whenever someone skirted the idea of practicing; I was impossible to fool. Either you could play the piece with few errors due to commitment, or you played like Anthony. A complete disaster during this lesson.

Anthony sighed, alerting me of his answer before admitting to anything. Please don’t tell my mom.

I laughed, outstretching my hand, ensuring empty space next to this scared twelve-year-old boy. I don’t have to tell her anything. She’s probably listening to our lesson right now.

How? Anthony asked, his breaths exiting his body in staccato beats.

Anthony, I leaned into the piano. Everyone always listens. Of course, the parents listened. I was hired as one of the top private piano teachers for Manhattan’s elite children. At nearly two hundred dollars for a forty-five-minute session, the parents listened or had someone spying on them to ensure their money wasn’t squandered. You need to practice.

I know, but sometimes I don’t want to. Are you mad?

I’m not going to tell anyone. But you need to practice. Don’t you want to play new songs? Once we graduate from Beethoven, I was thinking of taking our lessons in a different direction. Add some new songs to our repertoire. Maybe some rock music?

Anthony’s body shifted enough, triggering a squeaking noise from the bench’s legs against the cold marble floor. Rock music? Like who?

I’m not sure who, but I don’t see why we can’t introduce popular music? But you have to practice. I bowed my head, pushing my wavy hair behind my shoulder, and cursed myself for not braiding it. Anything to lift my hair off my shoulders to combat the late June Manhattan heat.

The door clicked open, and the familiar sound of stilettos marched across the floor, clacking toward Anthony and me at a determined pace. It had to be Anthony’s mother. My chin tipped toward the sound as I prepared to explain today’s lesson.

How did we do today? asked Mary, her chipper tone carrying throughout the large space as she entered my personal space. I hope Anthony practiced enough.

The weight of Anthony’s body left the piano bench, with my guess being to join his mother’s side.

I won’t lie. He could have played better, I said. But he did promise to practice throughout the week before our next lesson.

Mary released a tsk from her tongue. Anthony…. She warned.

That’s okay. It’s normal. It’s a phase. I stood and smoothed my flowing linen skirt. Same time next week?

Thank you, Viviane, said Mary, taking my hand in her soft one. See you next week. Anthony, what do you have to say?

Thanks, Ms. Caddel. See you next week.

Three hours later, as I stepped out of the car, waiting for Samara to lead me up the stairs, even though I didn’t need the help. I smelled the muggy air of the fresh summer that just commenced two days ago in New York. I couldn’t wait for the months ahead. This part of the city would be empty, as many residents ventured east or to other parts of New England to escape the muggy and garbage-filled air. I normally welcomed the city’s chorus of Ubers, taxis, and buses constantly honking and screeching to a halt. Still, I wanted to hear birds during the short summer season, and knew I’d join them in the Hamptons.

I almost forgot where to go until Samara’s arm linked around my elbow, guiding us into my brownstone.

Come, Mama. Let’s get out of this heat, said Samara, her velvety voice coaxing my feet to move. Samara had been my rock since I married William sixteen years ago. According to William, she was originally hired as my extension, where my sight fell short; however, she had become much more important than just a helper. Samara was my best friend.

I’d love to drink one of the club sodas with fresh lime juice, I said. Do we have fresh lime juice today?

You and your fresh lime juice. Yes, we have plenty of limes to make your fresh juice. I could hear Samara smile through her words. Her smooth skin cooled my warm flesh, and once she opened the door, the rush of cold air from the entryway showered me with a delightful release from the temperature outdoors.

I walked up the three steps leading to the main entrance. I dropped my tote, placed the music sheets I carried to private lessons, and fanned my face. When did summer start? I asked. It feels like yesterday we were digging out of the snow.

Mom? shouted Michelle from two stories above.

My darling Michelle. My only child and light to my darkness. She was my everything next to music and, in three days, would be venturing off to her final summer of sleep-away camp before participating in European teen tours like the rest of our circle.

Don’t run, Michelle. My heart lurched from the sound of her thundering footsteps. I’m not going anywhere, I called back to her. Samara released my arm, scuffling toward the chef’s kitchen.

You know how your mother feels about you running down the steps, Michelle, said Samara, disappearing into the adjacent room.

Michelle’s steps increased in speed along with my heart rate. We had just ripped up our runner, exposing our slick wood steps. We waited for that one accident to result in a devastating outcome. I clutched the cold banister in front of me, willing to slow her down. Michelle, I’m serious. Don’t run.

Mom, relax. Michelle’s prickly cool arms wrapped around my body, pulling me in to reassure me of her safety and calming my heart. When’s the new runner being installed?

Not soon enough. I spoke to the installers yesterday, and it should be here by Friday. Just in time for you to leave me for the summer. A smile spread across my face. I couldn’t get over how mature and wonderful a person Michelle had transformed into. I was in awe of my creation but knew this was who Michelle was supposed to be, even without my intervention as a parent.

Mom. Don’t say it like that. You know I’ll be back. Michelle draped her arm over my shoulder.

It’s not that. I just can’t believe it’s your last summer of camp. It’s another chapter closed and another one about to begin, I sighed, facing the direction of Michelle’s voice. I ran my index finger along the perimeter of her forehead, stringing my nail through her thick wavy hair. I don’t want you to grow up. There I said it. I stuck my tongue out and crossed my arms. Who was the child now?

Oh, Mom. Her laugh always placated my nerves. I’m going to dinner soon with Elizabeth and Mason. Are you eating dinner with Samara?

I fought the corner of my mouth from curling, giving away my plans before even uttering a syllable.

Mom….who are you seeing? Don’t tell me. You’re seeing him tonight. Aren’t you?

He is your father. I took two steps back. My relationship with William had been strained over the last few months, and we had even separated: William’s idea. Our arguments had escalated over William’s insistence on the sudden need to control my life. One of our final, nasty arguments erupted over my teaching the piano. He wanted me to essentially stop so I could show face at more of his charity functions. William accused me of putting my hobby above him and his needs. Like charity events. I told him to go to hell and he took that as his exit. William knew the piano was not only part of my routine, but it occupied an essential part of my life. To cut that away from me was like severing a lifeline, and he had to have known that. I always admired his philanthropic ways and respected the time he allotted to them. I would never ask him to give it up. For him to ask me to give up something important without compromise seemed unfair.

Once Michelle witnessed too many instances of his near bullying me into a corner, I think it jolted William into saying he needed to leave. It was the correct move for Michelle’s sake, and the guilt that I hadn’t pulled the trigger first sometimes robbed me of sleep. However, in the last few weeks, things had changed between us.

What’s going on with you two? Are you getting back together or not? asked Michelle.

We’re in a good place right now. I planted a hand over my heart.

"That doesn’t answer the question. The two of you have been dating for almost six weeks now. Going to dinners. He’s coming over for Sunday brunch now."

Why can’t you call him Dad? You make it sound like he’s a stranger.

I just don’t think he’ll change, said Michelle, her tone darker.

Michelle. My breath caught in my throat. The last person I wanted to grow defensive toward was Michelle, but I sometimes lost control of my heart and its devices. I don’t want you to worry about me. If Dad and I are meant to be together, it’ll happen. And if things don’t work out, that’s okay too. Either way, our family will be okay. But it hit me. Were we harming our only child through our ambiguous status? I reached for Michelle, grazing her forearm with my fingertips until she allowed me to grasp her arm fully. I’m so sorry you had to witness the fighting, the arguments, anything that caused you discomfort. This is home for you, and I always want you to feel safe here and know that whatever we do, we will always have your best interest at heart.

Will you be okay? I’m worried about you. Michelle placed a warm hand over mine.

I’ll be fine. And this isn’t how it works. You’re too young to worry about me. Save that for later.

Mom.

Michelle, I’m serious. I know what I’m doing. Your dad and I aren’t rushing into anything. You just focus on your summer and enjoy it.

Did I tell you I switched my core activities to mainly music?

You did? I instantly perked up. Any mention of music always coursed energy through me. Which instrument did you choose? Michelle had the gift of playing several instruments with an expert’s touch. Mine was solely the piano.

I think I’m going to stick with the violin. Michelle’s body jolted at the vibration and beep of her phone, the signal that our conversation had slid to its end. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight when you come home.

Right, like I’m going to be the one who’s staying out late. It was the perfect time to wink, so I practiced the gesture and extracted a light chuckle from Michelle. She threw a wet kiss into the air for me to catch. And then my girl was gone, off to live her life for a few hours and to create new memories.

I sighed, sauntering back into the kitchen. I wondered when I should start getting ready for my big date with my husband, and pondered what to wear and if I should apply some makeup. Samara had agreed to stay late in case I needed any help getting ready and she was my safety net in every imaginable way possible.

Samara shuffled into the kitchen, always cautious not to startle me. However, she didn’t know that her perfume hitting my nostrils always exposed her presence before I heard her footsteps.

What are you thinking about? asked Samara.

I’m thinking how fancy I should get for tonight’s dinner with William? I turned toward her scent. Thank you again for staying late. Are you sure you didn’t want to ask Angeline to come over tonight? I’ll bring in dinner for you guys. Angeline was Samara’s oldest daughter and she was turning twenty-nine. She had come in from Boston for the week to celebrate her birthday.

I already told you, it’s fine. Angeline is one of those who likes to celebrate her birthday for the entire month. I’m good for one party. Samara chuckled. And you look beautiful, as always. If I were you, I would stay in that. Here’s your drink. Samara slid my club soda with fresh lime juice across the cool smooth countertop. The sweaty glass tickled my hand.

I just don’t want you to think you have to stay. I grimaced.

Mama, you asked me and gave me the choice. I’m here because I want to be. And you’re not paying me extra for tonight, either.

Thanks, I mumbled, as the blood rushed to my cheeks. The first sip of the drink slid down my throat with ease, coating it with a cool burn I loved. So, I guess it’s settled. I’ll wear this. I wouldn’t alter my appearance for William this evening because I had already dressed for the part earlier in the day. And, if William wanted me back, my current state needed to be enough.

Chapter Two

We sat in an intimate corner booth in our favorite piano joint on the city’s Upper East Side. William wanted to take me here as a surprise, but I knew the instant we stepped inside. There was an unmistakable aroma of vanilla that circulated in the air. I was never certain how they executed the divine fragrance: the sweet and smooth essence always triggered a hunger to sit down, enjoy the food, and, of course, the music.

Actually, it was my favorite spot to dine. While William enjoyed it, I knew other places won his vote. But William was stuck in the mode of winning me back — his wife of sixteen years.

Six months ago, William said we needed space. However, the phone calls began pouring in, timed strategically for me to hear how he was remorseful without admitting it outright. That was the thing about William. He never fully apologized or explained the situation to justify his actions. This tactic he utilized on me over the last few months, laying on the sweet charm that had won me over when we started dating twenty years ago.

Do you want me to meet you at the camp bus pickup, or shall I drive with you and Michelle from the apartment? William asked, scooting closer to me in the booth.

I looked up from my setting, pointing my chin toward William’s stern yet kind voice. He had softened ever since he crawled back to me, and while I held a wary ear to his actions, I was somewhat convinced William did change. He swore he was done controlling certain aspects of my life and wanted to secure a better future for us. William always anchored the greatest creature comforts for us, and we were in a small prestigious circle in the city. I guess you could even call us socialites. William originated from old money, and he brought me into his world, where I needed to be as proper as a royal statue. The one area where I refused to fade to gray was music. Playing the piano meant everything to me, next to being a mother to Michelle. You can go with us from the apartment. I don’t see the need to take two separate cars there.

Great. Excellent, said William, pushing a plate across the table. His knuckles brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me as he placed a fork into my hand. Here, try the shrimp. They’re fantastic tonight. Not spicy, just how you like them.

Instead of William letting me feed myself, he took back the utensil from my palm, speared a shrimp from the sound of the points hitting the plate, and placed the fork close enough to my mouth for me to secure a bite. William was right about the shrimp; they were perfect.

Yum. I scrunched my shoulders and clasped my hands. I think I can handle the rest. I took the fork from William’s hand. I always shied away from certain assistance — like feeding myself. I was perfectly capable but for whatever reason, William always believed he was everyone’s savior, especially mine. But I never needed to be saved. I never felt that way, even before William. I had my own life, and once I met him, I always thought we would mesh our existence.

Whatever you say, Miss Independent.

Are you upset?

What? No, no. I was only kidding. You’ve always amazed me, Viviane. William claimed my hand, wrapping his long thick fingers around mine and bringing them to his warm lips. I’ve been thinking about something. Can I tell you?

Well, you can’t leave me hanging. So, of course, you can tell me.

You promise you won’t get mad?

Are you serious, William? When did my all-too-confident husband ever care if someone got angry at him?

I need your guarantee, said William, his warm breath hitting my face.

Nothing is guaranteed in life. I playfully batted his shoulder with the back of my hand.

Hey. That hurt.

Very funny. Now, talk.

I want to come home. I think we’ve reached a healthy and stable point in our relationship. Don’t you think?

William…

Haven’t these last few weeks been amazing? It’s been so easy. So relaxing. Like how we were before the rough patch happened. And I know that was my fault. I’ve accepted responsibility for all that, and I promise to never go down that road again. I lost sight of the true point to us, and I got stuck.

What is the point of us? How do you see us in five, ten, fifteen years from now?

How about twenty years from now? Or thirty? Viviane, you are my forever. My father is excited that we’re going to reconcile and be a true family again. I’m over the moon, obviously. We must take this last step to make it real again.

I ran my hands over my naked arms, wishing I had taken a cardigan to the restaurant. I moved my head in semi-circle motions, searching for something. Yes, it made sense for William to come home. But was I ready for it? I wasn’t sure, as ridiculous as it sounded. We were still married and hadn’t even approached divorce attorneys when we agreed to break from legitimate married life. It does make sense what you’re saying. I agree. The last few months have been really great.

But? I’m sensing the but coming up. Seriously, though. You had to know I was going to ask, Viviane. I mean, dating is fun. What we’re doing feels light, frilly. Carefree. Except, we are married. Also, people will start asking what we’re doing. You don’t want to be placed in an odd spot and have to give them a weird explanation, do you?

We don’t owe anyone an explanation. It’s our lives. That’s one thing we still don’t agree on. You worry too much about what these people will think, and I’m just living. Can’t we meet in the middle? I squeezed his heavy hand.

There it is. William tapped my nose. I’m always marching to the logic surrounding the situation, and you’re walking to the beat of your heart.

Give me a few days.

A few days for what? William’s voice ticked up an octave upward.

William, you just sprung this on me, and now I feel like you’re getting mad. I know you. I pointed a finger in his direction.

Can you blame me? I want to sleep next to my beautiful wife and wake up next to her every morning. He leaned close enough that his mouth brushed my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. I can’t stop thinking about the other night in the shower. You were so amazing. He ran the tips of his fingers along my jawline. I was never much for public affection, but if I turned William down, he’d be sent down even further into a tunnel of rejection.

How about tomorrow morning we figure out the logistics? I leaned into his touch, his breath coating my face.

William barely had to move before his lips contacted mine. He lingered on my mouth for an extra moment before responding. I think that sounds perfect.

I smiled against his bottom lip, tracing my fingernails down his cheek. I’ll be right back. I’m going to the restroom.

Do you want me to walk you there? William shifted his chair back to assist.

I reached for my cane to my left, standing. I’ll be fine. I remember the way. I smiled, hoping to quell William's doubts over my ability to find my way.

I made a right, knowing I was a few feet from my target, and the truth was I didn’t need to go to the bathroom. I felt I needed to step away from the table for some safe space, not that William threatened me. It was something I couldn’t explain, but knowing he wasn’t getting his way immediately with me granting him unlimited access to our home again, set off a silent alarm of unease in the pit of my stomach. William didn’t like being told no, especially since he grew up privileged. I was about to reach for the door when a sound filled my ears and quickened my heartbeat.

Someone must have sat down at the piano in the main room and tapped a playful jazz tune across the keys, strumming with haphazard wild care, translating into a tune I couldn’t follow but delighted your ears. I forgot my original intention and meandered back into the dining room. I stopped a solid distance from the piano, surrounded by varying levels of applause and cheers. I knew I had to return to William before he grew antsy. Still, I couldn’t muster the motivation to move from my spot because my position let the piano’s perfect pitch wash over me.

Bravo, Jeffrey! someone called.

My chest fluttered. I once knew someone named the same, and he was one of the most talented musicians I had ever met. We went to the conservatory together in the city in our early twenties. Everyone in school had marveled at his talent, and while it had almost matched mine, I always believed he was the better teacher. I even lost a few students who wanted to play popular music — an area Jeffrey excelled in.

Another round of guaranteed applause flowed through the room, crowded with whispers and finger whistling. I shifted from foot to foot, anxious to know who it was playing behind the piano. My fingers ached to touch the keys and join this talent on stage. I was about to head back to my table, almost positive William was readying to send a search crew for me, when the musician’s voice bellowed across the room.