Bittersweet Notes

“Okay,” Nicole Haught spoke slowly and quietly, pointing toward the sheet of music. “You know this.” She paused and took a slow, deep breath to soothe the tone of her voice. “There are five lines and four spaces. A note can be on any of those lines or spaces. The note will tell you what to play on the piano. The first space on the treble clef is the….”

Nicole waited and prayed that the seven-year-old boy had listened to some of what she’d been saying over the last four weeks. She had been teaching piano for four years, and every student learned differently and at different speeds, but this one stumped her. It stumped her because Nicole knew the child was bright. He was in her history class, and she could depend on him to raise his hand whenever a question was asked, and he almost always knew the correct answer. He had even taught her a thing or two. 

But, apparently, the piano was his kryptonite. 

His little face scrunched in concentration, brows knitting together as he struggled to remember. Nicole felt a pang of sympathy, though she quickly forced herself to relax, leaning back in her chair as if she weren’t the least bit invested. He’d figure it out—she’d make sure of it. She always did.

It wasn’t because she had a soft spot for him. Of course not.

She just didn’t want him straining his little brain, that was all. Nothing more.

He was just another student. Nothing special. Nothing at all.

Nicole exhaled slowly and leaned closer to the piano. He obviously wasn’t going to remember, and it was too close to the end of the lesson to let him keep trying.

“F. You have to memorize your lines and spaces.” Nicole pressed her finger against the sheet music, moving it slowly between the faded black. “F. A. C. E. It spells face, remember?” She glanced down at him, noticing the look of determination in his expression. “What are the lines?”

The little boy’s hazel eyes lit, and his lips curled into a proud smile. “I know that one!” He yelled and pumped his fist into the air. “Every Good Beginner Deserves Fries!” 

When Nicole’s grandmother taught her how to play the piano, the mnemonics for the treble staff notes of E.G.B.D and F were Every Good Boy Does Fine, but Nicole always hated it. She used Every Good Beginner Deserves Fries for her new students; for her more experienced students, she used Every Great Band Deserves Fans. Nicole would do whatever it took to help her students love music the way that she loved music. But she didn’t need to do so right now. Fries seem to be the perfect motivator. 

“You are correct,” Nicole said, grinning at her student. It made her happy when they were excited, even if it was over fries. “Good job.”

The boy held his hand up for a high-five, which Nicole accepted readily. 

At that moment, Nicole saw many similarities between Walker and his mother. There were snippets of his aunts, too. The thought made her smile even broader. Walker had Waverly’s hair and eye coloring, but most of his sass came from his aunt, Wynonna. Sometimes, Nicole could even see a little of Walker’s oldest aunt, Willa, in his thoughtful eyes. Especially when his brow furrowed, and it looked like he was trying to solve all of the world’s problems or maybe cause them. No matter who he resembled, Nicole knew he was special.

Walker smiled. “Thanks. You’re the best teacher,” he replied, nodding and looking as if he would argue with anyone who disagreed.

Thankfully, Walker didn’t seem to have any of his father’s traits. Or at least not that Nicole could see. She hadn’t seen Champ Hardy since before Walker was born but, based on how Champ was in high school, she was confident Walker was nothing like his dad. Champ had been a bully and an arrogant asshole. She couldn’t think of one redeeming quality but, then again, she had known she was a lesbian since she was twelve, so it wasn’t like she ever looked at him with anything other than disdain. 

Nicole guessed Waverly had been able to see something redeeming in Champ. They had dated all through high school, much to Willa and Wynonna’s chagrin. And Nicole would know. Nicole had been best friends with Wynonna since she moved to Purgatory in the fifth grade, so Nicole had a front-row seat for the Champ’s assholey on parade. 

For years, Nicole had to listen to Wynonna complain about Champ and how he treated Waverly. During high school, Nicole hadn’t thought much about Waverly and Champ. Other than Wynonna, the happy couple were only in Nicole's peripheral vision. Waverly was two years younger than them, so she was just Wynonna’s annoying little sister who always wanted to tag along with them wherever they went. That was all. Waverly was simply little Waverly: Willa and Wynonna’s baby girl.

But, as life goes on, things change. Waverly changed.

When Waverly started high school, she was no longer the cute little tag-a-long. No. Not even close. She became the stuck-up cheerleader who dated the football team's quarterback. Waverly was the popular class president, whereas Nicole was the band nerd who tried her best to hide in the crowd. The only remarkable thing about her was the fact that she had a badass friend in Wynonna. So, while Waverly was always in Nicole’s peripheral vision, Nicole was invisible to Waverly.

“I think you are the best, no matter what Momma says,” Walker finished in a whisper. “I heard Momma tell Aunt Nonna that she would rather I learn piano from a frog. I didn’t know frogs could teach people piano. Do you have one?”

Okay, maybe a little less than invisible. 

For some reason, Waverly hated Nicole. Waverly was clear on the subject. She broodingly scowled whenever Nicole was around. Waverly grumbled every time Wynonna invited Nicole to any Earp family event. Waverly Earp loathed Nicole Haught and had for years. It was as apparent as the sun rising in the east. What wasn’t so obvious was why.

Nicole suspected it was residual trauma from their shared childhood but, then again, wasn’t it all in good fun? Childhood stuff. Kids being kids. Teasing and stuff.

Except Nicole and Wynonna had admittedly been a little harsh on the youngest Earp. Nicole didn’t think it was any worse than any other sibling's behavior. But what did she know? She was an only child. Nicole barely had any family at all. Except for the Earps. 

“Momma doesn’t like you very much,” Walker continued. His fingers ran along the keys of the piano, and he looked nervous. “Why?”

Or maybe Waverly was just grumpy. Waverly was an angry little bean who could suck the joy out of Nicole’s heart and speak negatively about her in front of her students.

Nicole considered her response but, ultimately, decided to ignore Walker’s question. It wasn’t Nicole’s place to explain Waverly’s rude behavior to anyone, especially to Waverly’s own son.

“Well done on knowing notes on the treble clef represent the notes E, G, B, D, and F,” Nicole said as she reached for the music sheet again. She closed the book and held it for Walker to take. “Next week, I expect you to be able to tell me the bass clef. I also want you to practice the song on page five of your book. I’ve marked it for you. I gave you a star for knowing Wormies. Okay?”

Giggling, Walker took the book and nodded his head. His brown hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it out of the way as he continued to laugh. “That’s a funny name.” He paused for a second, seemingly considering his following words. “Was I a good student today?” he asked cautiously. 

Nicole knew where this was going, but she said yes anyway. “Yes, Walker, you did great.”

“Every. Good. Beginner. Deserves. Fries.” Walker wiggled in a happy dance while he sat on the piano stool. His eyes danced with mischief, and it took all of Nicole’s control not to pull him into a hug. “Can I have fries?”

Nicole couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. Walker was a cute kid, happy and well-adjusted. Now that Nicole thought about it, he wasn’t like Waverly at all.

“You’ll have to ask your mother.”

“Ask his mother what?” Waverly’s harsh-toned voice rang throughout the music room, sending a chill down Nicole’s spine. “What are you putting my child up to now?” 

Yes, Walker was well-adjusted and a happy child, even if he did have pissy pants as his mother.

Nicole and Walker both turned around slowly at the question. Waverly was standing in the doorway. Her arms crossed over her chest, her jaw tightened, and her eyes set in a hard squint. She looked like a disgruntled angel in a white button-up and a tight black skirt. Sure, Nicole sighed. Waverly was a grump but also gorgeous—a breathtakingly beautiful grouch. Nicole hated herself for thinking it, but it was the truth.

Breathtakingly beautiful. Like a song.

Even angry, Waverly moved through life with the grace of a melody, her laughter like the soft tinkling of piano keys, not that the sound was ever directed at Nicole. Still, with every gesture, Waverly’s body weaved a symphony of depth and longing, like the strings of a violin or a gentle guitar strumming. 

Nicole sighed louder, more profound. 

Waverly’s lips turned in a harsh frown. Her long brown hair flowed over her shoulders, and the gold tones in her hazel eyes were like fire, lacking the warmth they typically held while looking at Walker.

Nicole would readily admit she was a little scared. 

It didn’t help that Waverly was in great shape for all her years teaching gymnastics and cheer. She might be five inches shorter than Nicole, but you’d never be able to tell by the way she walked into a room. Waverly always held her shoulders high, acting like she was a giant.   

“Nothing, Mom,” Walker huffed and slid off the bench. He stood and glanced at Nicole, shrugging his shoulders and resigning himself to his fryless fate. “I just did a good job today. That’s all.”

Waverly hummed but then appeared to catch herself. Her arms dropped to her side, and her perfectly shaped lips curled into a soft smile as she looked at Walker. “Way to go, baby boy. I’m proud of you.”

Nicole let out the breath she had been holding. She had thought it was some cliche when she had read it in romance novels, but Nicole had definitely been holding her breath. So, obviously, it was real. Waiting to see if Waverly would explode was a real thing, too. 

Running to the door, Walker laughed loud and happily. When he reached his mother, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and Nicole felt a longing deep inside her chest that almost took her breath away again. 

Recently, Nicole had felt something stir inside her whenever she was around Waverly. It was akin to butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but with Waverly, it was more like bees buzzing with the ability to sting. 

Nicole did not want to get stung, but she would if she entertained any thoughts of Waverly. The woman was Nicole’s best friend’s baby sister, her student’s mother, and, most importantly, Waverly hated Nicole. No, Nicole should keep all thoughts of cranky pants tucked deep inside the proverbial closet of her mind. It didn’t matter that Waverly was beautiful, a fantastic mother, and, by everyone else’s account, a lovely human being. All that mattered was that Waverly was not interested in Nicole.

“Well, I guess that means french fries,” Waverly mumbled. “Right?” 

Her eyes darted to Nicole for confirmation, and Nicole slowly nodded.     

Walker did a happy dance and then waved at Nicole. “See you later, Coach Haught!”

“Yeah,” Nicole replied quietly. Coaching Walker’s baseball team had been something Wynonna had talked Nicole into doing, and as a result, there were even more opportunities for Waverly to stare angrily at Nicole. Exciting stuff. “I’ll see you at the game.” 

Without another word, Waverly abruptly turned around and ushered her son out the door. Nicole’s stupid traitor of a heart wished Waverly would turn around and wave, but she didn’t. Waverly didn’t even look back to glare, gripe, or complain. She left Nicole wishing for things she knew she didn’t need but couldn’t help wanting. 

“Damn it.”

Nicole listened until the footsteps retreated in the hallway before she slid onto the piano bench, gently placing her fingers on the keys. She ran her fingertips along the white ivory and let the smooth surface comfort her. Most people had a building they called home, but not Nicole. Her family had moved most of her life, and when she finally landed with her grandmother at eleven, the word home had become an odd concept. But when Nicole’s grandmother started teaching her how to play the piano, home became a space between the black and white keys. 

When Nicole played, she could lose herself and yet feel found. The music, each note, could take Nicole places and yet settle her soul. Even when she grew larger than everyone in her class, when she told everyone she was gay, or people like Champ would call her names and there was no one in the town of Purgatory to date, the piano was her home, and music was her lover.  

Settling her thumb on G#, Nicole took a deep breath and gently pressed the three simple notes she could feel in her soul. She played the first measure twice, G#, C3, and E, before adding the harsh chord with her left hand. The 1st Movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor, “Quasi una fantasia”, Op. 27. No.2 was haunting, like a storm brewing in the summer heat. Her right hand continued the steady rhythm, filled with mourning and melancholia, while her left hand hit the chords, giving the song the low thunder of the storm. 

She closed her eyes and let herself be swept away into the darkness and under the moonlight. 

By the time Nicole started the 2nd Movement, she knew she wasn’t alone in the room, and perhaps it was fitting since now her fingers almost bounced with the lightness of the song. Nicole assumed it was Rosita who had joined her in the music room. Rosita taught chemistry in the classroom down the hall and, while they usually didn’t ride to work on the days Nicole taught piano, today was an exception.   

Nicole continued playing, leaning more toward the piano as she started the 3rd Movement. Her fingers flew across the keys, and her mind could see the music she was playing. She could picture the force of every note. The storm had only been brewing in the 1st Movement, but now, it was raging, intense, and driving until it ended abruptly. It ended, not like the roll of thunder, but like a flash of lightning in the sky. 

But, for Nicole, the storm still hadn’t cleared. Her emotions roared and raged like the music she had played. Even the smoothness of the keys couldn’t soothe her. Even her love affair with her music couldn’t console her. But she played on. Like always. 

If “Moonlight Sonata” is a love song, the lovers must have hated each other a little. Or maybe a lot. Nicole had always heard that there was a fine line between love and hate. Maybe that’s true. Perhaps it was more accurate for her than she wanted to admit.

Nicole stretched her fingers and then started playing the soothing notes of Henry Mancini’s “Moon River”. If “Moonlight Sonata” was Nicole’s storm, “Moon River” was her sunset. For her, the melody matched the unhurried pace of the sun descending, each note casting hues of pink and orange, making the world seem serene and peaceful. 

“Why are you playing the Moons?” Rosita asked with a groan as she sat in the chair next to the piano. “You only play the Moons when you’re sad.”

Rosita had been a part of Nicole’s life for a few years—a bright spot in a sometimes dull world. Rosita was beautiful and intelligent, funny with a side of sarcasm, and as close to perfect as you could get. Nicole loved her. 

“Hey, babes,” Nicole said, ignoring Rosita’s question. The subject of Waverly was something Nicole did not discuss with Rosita. “How was your day?”

Frowning, Rosita wrapped her arm around Nicole’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Why are you playing the Moons?” She asked again; her tone was more demanding this time. 

Nicole groaned and shook her head but spilled her guts anyway. She didn’t want to ask. It was stupid and silly. She probably didn’t even want to know, but she couldn’t stop the words from escaping her stupid lips. 

“Why doesn’t Waverly like me?”

“Oh my gosh,” Rosita laughed and laid her head on Nicole’s shoulder. “Are you lamenting about that again? Why don’t you ask Wynonna? You have been friends with Wynonna longer than I’ve been married into the Earp family.”

Nicole poked her lip out in a pout, trying to gain pity even though pity would not be given. “I did introduce you to your wife. You could ask Wynonna for me or, better yet, ask your sister-in-law.”

“Willa?”

Nicole glared at Rosita.

Rosita laughed harder. 

“Come on,” Rosita grunted as she stood, touching her ever-growing belly. “You’ve got to coach my nephew. And let me remind you that when this baby,” she pointed toward her stomach, “is old enough to play, you have to coach them too.” Rosita paused again. A teasing smirk eased across her lips. “I can’t wait to tell Wynonna about your crush on Waverly. This game just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Nicole groaned again. She seriously wished she could crawl into the space between the piano keys. But, most of all, she wished she knew exactly why Waverly Earp hated her.