Chloe felt a prickle of heat run up her neck and tapped her Artemis ring against the pole. “Would I be able to tell the difference between an AI composition and a human one?”
“I can,” he said. “AI can mimic, it can take in all the music ever written and churn out an imitation, but if you listen carefully, there’s no heart to it. It will never come up with something original that speaks to your soul the way Mozart does. It will never make youfeelthe way a Rachmaninoff piano concerto will.” She could hear the resentment in his voice. She thought of Rob, quoting Yeats. Would he ever come up with something that poetic on his own? “But a machine can create music in ten minutes what it would take me months to do,” John went on. “Who’s going to get the job when corporations are looking at their bottom line?”
“It was stupid of me to think the music you wrote took no time to create,” she said. “That it was easy for you.”
“That might have been my fault. I liked people thinking it was easy. It’s more romantic being someone who’s gifted than someone who works hard.”
“Well, I owe you a holiday to South America,” she said, pushing the pole down into the water again. “When I make it big in the PA world, I will take you.”
“Thanks,” he said, but now his eyes shifted. He didn’t smile.
“What? Too soon?”
“It isn’t that.” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes on the river. “You asked why I was still upset, about that play…” Heclosed his eyes, holding something back. She waited for him to go on, knowing that silence and patience are sometimes better prompts than words. “My father died a month after that.”
The words hit her like a slap, the sinking feeling in her chest becoming an ache she couldn’t ignore. She saw a gray line flash across her wrist—now it all made sense.
“Oh, John,” Chloe whispered, her breath catching. She pulled the pole from the water and laid it down in the boat, the action not matching the heaviness of the moment. She knelt down, leaned forward, wanting to close the distance between them. But the only thing she could easily reach was his ankle, so she squeezed it gently, the act awkward but tender. Their eyes met, and a shaky laugh escaped them both.
“Sorry, I don’t know what that was. A commiseratory ankle squeeze?”
He reached for her hand instead. “It’s okay. You think there will be other opportunities. You don’t imagine it will be the last trip, not at fifty-nine.”
“Oh God, if I could take it back, if I could tell you to go, if I could unwrite that stupid play…I’m so, so sorry—”
“It wasn’t your fault. People die,” he said, then paused, his brow tensed in contemplation. “But I thought the music was good, even if the play wasn’t. Then it only got to be heard for one performance. Would it have made me feel better about missing that trip if we’d done the whole run? Probably not, but it wouldn’t have felt like such a bloody waste.” His voice caught, and he turned his face away.
Chloe’s stomach twisted. The guilt pressed in, heavy and sharp. “I understand,” she said quietly. Then, after a breath, “I’d hate me, if I were you. You can, if it helps.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t want to hate you,” he said, lookingback up at her. His gaze didn’t waver now, and in it she saw something raw, fractured, then such a range of emotions, like flicking through a thousand channels all at once, nothing landing long enough to name. She wanted to reach for him, to bridge the space between them, but she didn’t trust herself to move. Because this didn’t feel like it was just about grief or regret anymore. There was that electricity in the air between them again, a current that made her skin prickle, warm, like the heat before a storm. She was the one to break it, looking away, afraid of this unfamiliar sensation.
“You should take control, you’re better at this than me,” she said, pushing the pole toward him, and her words felt unintentionally loaded.
They carefully swapped places on the boat, avoiding making contact as much as they could. She settled back into the low chair with Richard, and John gingerly returned to the platform at the rear. It took him a few strokes to get back into rhythm with the river. As they rounded a bend, they could see the others ahead of them. The other boats had turned around and were heading upstream toward them.
Sean and Harriet were at the front, with Amara on the pole.
“I’d turn around now if I were you,” Amara called out. “It’s way harder going this way.”
“Put some effort in, Amara,” Sean called from the seat. “One, two, one, two,” he cried, playing the role of a cox. Then as Chloe and John passed, he reached a hand in the water and splashed John. “John, get a move on,” he said, laughing. “Last one back gets the first round in.”
Chloe and John exchanged a look. The others felt too loud, too boisterous; she wanted it to be just them again.
“Shall we just go a bit farther? The river might feel a littlecrowded otherwise,” Chloe suggested, and John nodded as Elaine and Colin swept past, racing Tali and Rocco in the boat behind. Their punts disturbed the water, so John had to work harder to stay balanced.
When they’d put enough distance between themselves and the other boats, John carefully maneuvered the boat around and started back upstream.
“Tell me about Akiko,” he said.
“Oh, she’s good,” Chloe said, smiling at the thought of her friend. “She runs these theater venues up in Edinburgh, married a graphic designer, Heydon. They have a baby now, Elodie.” She paused. “I’m godmother.”
“That’s great,” he said. “How’s she finding it? I imagine someone like Kiko could find motherhood quite a shift.”
Chloe reached for Richard, who was looking ill at ease without John, inviting him to settle back down on the chair beside her.
“She seems to be taking it in her stride,” she said. “I mean she’s tired, Elodie doesn’t sleep much, but otherwise she’s just the same.”
She watched John’s expression as he tilted his head, made the slightest shrug.
