Chapter 16
The conservatory anniversary returned two years later.
I almost changed locations.
Lucien said:
“Why?”
I looked at him.
He shrugged.
“It’s a room.”
Annoying.
Correct.
So we used it.
No giant memorial to his return.
No speech about resurrection.
He hated that word.
“I wasn’t dead.”
Fair.
Faye attended as a guest with June.
Not staff.
Sabine was invited.
Lucien’s choice surprised me.
“Sure?”
“No.”
Then:
“But I’m choosing anyway.”
Good answer.
She arrived alone.
Sat at a side table.
Did not host.
Did not direct servers.
Did not inspect seating.
I could see restraint costing her effort.
That mattered.
Halfway through dinner, the pianist played something familiar.
Four notes rising.
Three falling.
I looked at Lucien.
He looked at Faye.
Faye looked horrified.
June had apparently requested it.
Of course.
The pianist continued.
Conversation softened.
Sabine froze.
Then slowly relaxed.
Nobody died.
Nobody vanished.
No secret door opened.
It was just music.
Lucien leaned toward me.
“You remember Mother playing it badly?”
“She wrote it.”
“That doesn’t mean she played it well.”
True.
We laughed.
Sabine heard.
Her eyes filled.
She did not come over.
Good.
Not every emotion requires access.
Later, Faye approached with June.
June looked at Lucien.
“Sing.”
He stared.
“I don’t sing.”
“You know it.”
“Knowing is not singing.”
She stared until he surrendered.
My terrifying brother, presumed dead for ten years, hummed our mother’s melody beside a grand piano because a seven-year-old bullied him.
I almost took a photograph.
He noticed.
“Don’t.”
I didn’t.
May you like
Some dignity should survive.
Barely.
