The summer in Glendower was different from the North; the air carried a damp, salty tang.
My agent asked if I could settle into the local climate and culture.
I thought I was managing fine.
While buying flowers downstairs, I met a girl with a ponytail.
She pulled up a video on her phone—a recording of my performance in Fairhaven three years ago.
On screen, my hands flew across the keys to Liszt's "La Campanella."
She asked, "Ms. Pierce, I'm your fan. They say online that your hand is injured. Is that true?"
I replied, "It's true."
Her face instantly fell. She said, "Don't you think it's a waste?"
I smiled and said, "It's enough to have had it."
Although my ability to play a piece after hearing it once remained, I could no longer bring it to life.
She asked, "Then why are you in
