The Pilot's Wife_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [57]
The auditorium slowly fills with parents as the band struggles courageously with “Pomp and Circumstance.” Conducting in the pit just below the stage, Kathryn manages to coax from the twenty-three high school musicians a barely passable rendition of the graduation processional. Susan Ingalls, on the clarinet, is wildly off-key, and Spence Closson, on the bass drum, seems particularly nervous tonight, hesitating just a fraction on each measure.
Overtime, Kathryn thinks to herself. In any other job, this would be called overtime.
Fortunately, this is not graduation itself, just Awards Night. Kathryn has five seniors in the band, two of whom might win academic prizes. It’s one of the few advantages of a small school, she thinks. Awards Night is usually short.
With her baton still in her hand, she sits on a chair next to Jimmy DeMartino, tuba. She debates the merits of taking Susan Ingalls backstage and trying to tune her clarinet. The principal begins his address, which will be followed by talks from the vice-principal and the valedictorian of the senior class. Kathryn tries to pay attention, but her mind is more fixed on the grades she must do tonight when she gets home. The last several weeks of the school year are always harried and emotional. Every day for the past five days, she’s conducted band practice during lunch so that the seniors — all twenty-eight of them — can practice marching to “Pomp and Circumstance” for graduation. Not once this week has the song, even badly played, failed to produce tears. But by graduation night, Kathryn knows, all the tears will be used up, the wistful heartache of leaving school will be well played out, and the seniors will be thinking only of the all-night party ahead. Every year it is the same.
The speeches over, the principal begins to announce the awards. Kathryn looks at her watch. A half hour at the outside, she calculates. Then the band will play “Trumpet Voluntary,” everyone will go home, and she can start computing grades for her sophomore history class. Mattie has a math final tomorrow.
She hears applause, the hush of anticipation as a name is read, another round of applause, sometimes a whistle from the crowd. Seniors from the front row of the auditorium mount the stage and return with ribbon-tied scrolls in their hands, occasionally a trophy. Beside her, Jimmy DeMartino receives an award for outstanding academic achievement in physics. She holds his tuba for him while he is on stage.
After thirty minutes have passed, Kathryn listens for the lull in the proceedings that will signal that the evening is coming to a close. In preparation, she stands and walks toward the conductor’s box, making small motions with her hand to remind the musicians to pick up their instruments. She changes the music on the stand, waits with her hands folded in front of her to begin.
But she is mistaken. The principal is not done. There is one more award to be given.
Kathryn hears the words highest possible score and sophomore. A name is called. A girl stands and hands Kathryn her clarinet. In a white T-shirt, a skimpy black skirt, and work boots, the girl ascends the stage. The audience, in a mixture of admiration for the achievement and relief that the assembly is over, breaks into applause. Kathryn tucks Mattie’s clarinet under her arm and claps as hard as any of them.
Jack should be here, Kathryn thinks.
Afterward, in the band room, Kathryn smothers Mattie in a hug.
— I’m so proud, she says.
— Mom, Mattie says breathlessly, breaking away, — can I call Dad and tell him? I really want to.
Kathryn thinks a moment. Jack is in London and will be sleeping in preparation for another trip, but she knows he wouldn’t mind being woken for this.
— Sure, Kathryn says to Mattie. — Why not? We’ll use the phone in the principal’s office.
Using her calling card number, she dials the crew apartment, but there is no answer. She hangs up and tries again. Through the window, she can see the wind