Concertos for a healing heart


The simple poster advertising her performances ended up stuck in the same corner of the coffee shop’s window as the job advert that had drawn her inside in the first place.

Isaac had looked at her, quizzically, through his thick spectacles, when she’d asked him about it. Finally, he’d simply shrugged and said, “just keep it small, lassie.”

Over time, she’d gently quizzed the patrons about the things they liked to listen to, carefully compiling an eclectic set list, mixing classics and more modern tracks, from across a wide range of genres. An unexpected side effect of three years of daily group therapy sessions appeared to be a vastly improved ability to tease information out of even the most harried and reluctant customer.

Her audiences grew steadily from the initial three huddling against the winter’s night, to standing room only, which made Isaac fearful of the fines that a fire code citation could bring.

It was spring again, when the red-haired girl first appeared.

View this story's 4 comments.