"How were piano lessons today?"

Kelsie shrugged and continued staring out the window. "Okay, I guess. Same as last week, Dad."

Except last week she jumped in the car and spent the whole night telling him all about her teacher, the wonderful Miss Taylor, and the songs she was working on, Jack thought. Today when he picked Kelsie up from his sister Lisa's house -- where she stayed after school -- she was withdrawn and upset about something. He'd been trying for the last ten minutes to pry it out of her.

It wasn't like he really wanted to know about the piano lessons. In fact, that was about the last topic of conversation he would have chosen, but he'd already interrogated her about everything else he could think of in an effort to discover why his seven-year-old -- who normally bubbled over with life -- suddenly had all the enthusiasm of a rock.

Jack sighed as he pulled into their driveway. He was no good at this parental detective work. That had always been Beth's field of expertise. Since her death two years ago, he'd managed to muddle through each crisis, but nothing seemed to be working today. Maybe he could find out what was wrong over dinner ... .

The phone rang as he was trying to decide what he could fix. "Can you get that, Kel?" he yelled, his gaze on the contents of the refrigerator. She must not have heard because the phone bleated two more times and he finally grumbled and headed for the extension.

"Mr. McNeil?" A musically pitched woman's voice traveled over the phone line. "This is Carrie Taylor. Kelsie's piano teacher."

She sounded much younger than he imagined, not at all like the stiff-spined, pursed-lipped grandmother he'd pictured. In the three months Kelsie had been taking lessons, he had never actually spoken to her teacher. Lisa had arranged everything with the same paragon who'd been teaching his two nieces for years. He had been eager for his sister's help, he had to admit. He had promised Beth before the cancer stole her away that he would make sure Kelsie had piano lessons when she was old enough, but keeping that promise was harder than he'd anticipated.

He could handle most things about becoming a single parent. He didn't blink an eye at fixing ponytails before school or going to PTA meetings or playing Barbie dolls on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Piano lessons, though, and the painful memories they brought back of Beth and their life together were more than he could handle.

Music had filled every corner of their home from the day they married. Beth had played the piano with rare talent, and he'd often thought she could have played professionally but she'd opted to have a home and a family instead. Since she died, he could hardly stand to look at a piano, let alone listen to someone else play it. It was as if all the music in his heart had died along with his wife.

"Mr. McNeil, I'm calling about Kelsie." The teacher's soft voice interrupted the grim direction of his thoughts. "I have a few concerns I would like to speak with you about. Could you meet with me tomorrow sometime to discuss them?"

"Can't we just talk now?"

"I have lessons scheduled all evening and really don't have time tonight. I promise, it's very important or I wouldn't have bothered you."

Baffled, he agreed to drop by after he was finished work, but he stewed about it the rest of the evening and throughout the next day. Kelsie was a good kid. What problem could this piano teacher have with her? Maybe she was just another one of those interfering busybodies who were going to tell him it was time his daughter had a mother.

By the time he drove up to Carrie Taylor's white frame house the next day, Jack had worked himself into a state of righteous parental indignation. It deflated as soon as she opened the door, her smile warm and friendly. She was young and pretty, and he nearly laughed at how different she was from what he'd imagined.

"Mr. McNeil! Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me," she began, after ushering him inside. "As I told you on the phone, I'm worried about Kelsie."

He fidgeted. "If she hasn't been practicing enough, I'll talk to her."

"It's nothing like that. She's a very diligent student."

"What's the problem then?"

She paused. "Did Kelsie tell you we have a recital scheduled next week?"

"No." He stared at her, puzzled. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"That's what I suspected. When I mentioned the recital yesterday at practice at first Kelsie became very excited about it, but as the lesson continued she grew more and more withdrawn. Before she left, I brought up the recital again and told her which piece I wanted her to work on. I also told her to be sure to mention it to you so you could attend and at that point, she started to cry. She said she didn't want to be in any stupid recital because she knew you'd never come."

"Of course I'll come!" What kind of father did this Carrie Taylor think he was?

"She seems to think you don't want her taking piano lessons. To be honest, this isn't the first time I've gained that impression, Mr. McNeil. I understand she does all her practicing at her aunt's home after school. She even leaves her lesson books there."

Jack glanced away. "We don't have a piano at the house anymore."

"It's certainly not my place to tell you how to raise your child, but if she's going to continue taking lessons from me she has to feel as if she has your unqualified support. If she senses you don't really care whether she learns to play, she's not going to care either. It's very important for parents to be completely involved in the process."

She smiled gently, and Jack had a hard time tearing his gaze away from the warm understanding in her soft blue eyes. Something about this woman soothed him, made him feel comforted even in the middle of what was obviously a lecture.

"The recital is next Saturday evening at seven. I think it would mean a great deal to Kelsie if you would come."

What else could he do? Jack nodded. "I'll be there."

Kelsie was still playing in the backyard with her cousins when he arrived at Lisa's to pick her up. It seemed a perfect opportunity to talk to his sister about what the piano teacher had just said.

"I hate to say it, Jack, but Carrie's right," Lisa said, after he told her the story. "I know how you must feel about it. Beth loved music so much and being reminded of that must hurt you terribly. But you have to think about Kelsie, too. Do you want her to be deprived of something that meant so much to her mother -- something that probably makes her feel closer to Beth -- because of your own pain?"

Had he really been doing that? He winced, suddenly feeling selfish and small. He'd put Beth's piano in storage after she died had hidden it away so it wasn't a constant, aching reminder of his loss. But maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Kelsie needed that connection to her mother.

Throughout the week, he made a real effort to change his attitude about the piano lessons. He encouraged her to talk about the recital and even took her shoppping to buy a new dress, a burgundy velvet and lace concoction that made her look so much like Beth it nearly broke his heart.

The evening of the recital, they were both jittery with nerves. He tried to loosen his tie a bit as they entered the small recital hall, already beginning to fill with other parents. Kelsie immediately rushed backstage, leaving him alone. He was scanning the crowd for his sister's family when Carrie Taylor, in a flowing dress with her blonde dress pulled back into a soft twist, spotted him. She smiled with delight and walked toward him.

"Mr. McNeil! I'm so glad you made it." She reached a hand to shake his, and as their skin brushed, that odd sense of peace slid over him again. He wanted to stay right here, holding her hand. The urge shocked him and he jerked his fingers back. "Call me Jack," he mumbled.

"Jack. I really wanted to talk to you again about the other day. As I was thinking about it, I realized I came on a little strong. I'm sorry. It's just that Kelsie shows real talent and I would hate to see her lose interest before she even has a chance to stretch her musical wings."

Her concern for his daughter warmed a cold and empty place inside him. "No. You were right. I haven't exactly been supportive. I'm working on it, though."

"I think you'll be pleased when you hear how far she's progressed in just the short time she's been taking lessons."

Before he could answer, she was called away backstage. He watched her go, suddenly feeling more lonely than he had in a long time, then shrugged off the emptiness and quickly found Lisa and her family seated near the front of the hall.

Kelsie wouldn't play until the end of the program so he patiently sat through two dozen other performers. Finally it was her turn and Kelsie walked out into the spotlight. She gave a tiny smile, then took her seat behind the piano.

Jack held his breath nervously as he waited for her to begin. He shouldn't have worried, though. The chiming notes of Beethoven's Ode to Joy eased into every corner of the concert hall and he closed his eyes as the music washed over him. This had been one of Beth's favorite songs, he remembered. She used to hum it to Kelsie when she was a baby.

It should hurt him terribly to hear their daughter play it, shouldn't it? Instead, while he listened to Kelsie's peformance, he somehow felt as light as the music floating through the air, as if the music had somehow freed him from some silent, grim cage. He'd been so wrong, he realized. They both needed this in their lives, the healing touch of music. Life suddenly seemed more filled with possibilities than it had in a long time.

After the performers gave their last bows to the audience, he waded through the crowd until he found his daughter talking to her teacher. Kelsie's eyes glowed with pride when she saw him. "What'd you think, Dad? Didn't everybody play great?"

"They sure did," Jack replied and winked. "Of course I'm a little biased. I think the pretty girl in the burgundy dress was the best." She giggled then her attention was caught by one of her friends and she rushed over to talk to her.

"Thank you again for coming, Jack," Carrie said, when they were alone.

"Thank you for making me realize how important it was, to both Kelsie and me." He cleared his throat. "You know, I was thinking tomorrow would be a good time to take our piano out of storage. It's been gathering dust too long."

"I think that's a wonderful idea." She smiled with such genuine delight that he couldn't help smiling back. Maybe the piano wasn't the only thing that needed to come out of storage, he thought. Maybe it was time he brushed the dust from his heart as well.

"Listen," he added impulsively, "I was going to take Kelsie out for ice cream to celebrate her performance. If you don't have other plans, would you join us?"

"I'd love to!" she said, and as she smiled, he could swear he heard music.