Page 187 of Playing By Ear

Her last sentence was the most comforting one Jamie had ever read.

His eyelids growing heavy, he opened a web browser to check on the falcons.

It was raining in Baltimore, based on the slickness of the concrete roof edge in the night-vision camera. Barb sat hunched over her brood in their sandy nest, her head feathers water-tousled, wings spread to shield the wee ones from the driving downpour. One eyass poked out its fuzzy white head, blinked into the rain, then withdrew beneath the shelter of its mum’s wings.

Absorbed as he was by his proposal, Perry only vaguely registered the new silence in Martin’s house. It felt a normal Monday morning as he prepared breakfast for the three of them. After washing the pans and his own plate, he returned to his and Jamie’s bedroom for one final listen to the essay outline and sample.

As he made a few minuscule edits, he heard an older female voice out in the corridor, speaking quietly with Jamie. Not one of the aunties, so perhaps the hospice nurse.

Perry attached his proposal to two separate emails, wrote the customized cover notes, held his breath, and sent both.

There. He’d shared his secret with two more persons in the universe. If his piece was published, thousands more would know. The thought made his heart race, and yet it felt righter than anything he’d done in his professional life. He sent a silent thank-you to the nameless ruffian who’d tipped off Stuart. Without that nudge, Perry would have written it anonymously.

He headed down to the kitchen to plan the rest of the day’s meals, appreciating how well Jamie’s family heeded requests not to move the furniture or leave random objects on the floor. Perry could now navigate Martin’s house without using the cane as long as everything stayed in its proper place.

“I’m here,” Jamie said as Perry entered the kitchen. “Didn’t want to startle you.”

“Thanks.” He went to where Jamie stood beside the rubbish bin. “How is he this morning?”

“This is how.” Jamie lifted a breakfast plate into Perry’s line of sight. It looked untouched.

“Was the food all right?”

“It was delicious. I scranned mine without hardly breathing.” Jamie sniffled. “He says his stomach’s fine. He just won’t eat. Or drink.” He stepped on the bin’s pedal to open it but didn’t toss in the food. “Sometimes his eyes are far away. Not, like, in the distance. More like he’s looking far inside himself.”

“Could he be in pain?”

“I’ve been keeping ahead of it, giving him morphine on schedule. Maybe it’s not enough anymore.” Jamie’s voice had lost all luster. “The hospice nurse says not eating and drinking could mean he’s getting ready to die.”

“Oh.” Perry laid a soft hand on Jamie’s back. “I’m so sorry.”

A rustle sounded at the front of the house, then the door opened with a creak of hinge.

“Hang on, I’ll see who that is.” Jamie handed Perry the plate and headed for the living room.

Several voices came from the hall, but Perry recognized only that of Norma, whom he thought of as Martin’s consigliere, not that he would’ve called her that out loud.

Perry scraped Martin’s plate clean, feeling a tug of sadness at the thud of food at the bottom of the bin.

Jamie returned in a moment. “Aunt Norma brought Father Borelli, I suppose to hear Dad’s last confession. Gonnae be a belter, that one. But Victor Coyle and Sean Gilchrist came as well, which is odd.”

“Why?” Despite his journalistic skill in recalling names, Perry couldn’t keep track of all the MacKray Enterprises personae.

“Victor’s the father of Tony Coyle—the eejit who interrupted me busking that day? The Coyles and Gilchrists are sort of underfamilies to the MacKrays. So are Stuart’s family, the Wilkies.”

“Oh, like the minor houses in Game of Thrones?”

“A bit, yeah. That’s all I know about their positions. I’m not clued into the org chart, and I don’t want to be.”

Perry’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He drew it out and pulled it close to his face to see the screen.

An editor’s reply to his email.

“Oh my God. That was fast.” He tapped it with a trembling fingertip, then handed it to Jamie. “Will you read it to me?” His hands were shaking too hard to hold it still.

“Sure, let me see.” Jamie was silent for several long moments.

“It’s a rejection, isn’t it?”