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There was a formal family photo—him, his parents, and several siblings. Next to that, a photo of a man with dark eyes Mark looked very much like, standing next to a young woman who was in other photos. The family photos were rather confusing. He looked like the woman she assumed was his mother, but nothing like his father, who stood next to her, arm around her shoulder, tall and grim like a hardened soldier.
The man in the other photo... They could be brothers. But that photo was so much older than the rest...
“What has you so interested over there?”
Emily jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice behind her. She turned and gave a sheepish smile. “Trying to understand the photos.”
“Understand the photos?”
She shrugged. “You don’t look like your dad, but you look like your mom.”
He studied her eyes for a long minute. “Which photo?”
She pointed at the family portrait.
“I think I look exactly like my dad.”
Emily frowned and looked back at the photo. The man was tall and broad, with grey hair and a square jaw. “You look nothing like him.”
“That’s not my dad. I mean, he is, but he isn’t. Not by blood.” Mark picked up the older photo of the man who looked like him standing with a young woman. “This is my biological dad. He died before I was born.” He picked up the photo. “That’s my Aunt Julia, his sister. A long time ago.” He stared at the photo and then set it down carefully. “I have a complicated family history.” He gave a small shrug.
“Oh.” Curiosity burned in her chest, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.
He smiled. “I might tell you more someday.”
“You think there’ll be a someday?”
His smile broadened. “You never know.”
She shook her head. Not if Geoffrey had anything to say about it. “What piece did you want me to hear?”
“So eager to get upstairs with me?”
She glanced at the iron railing of the staircase.
“I’m kidding. C’mon.” He headed up the stairs and Emily followed, curious about the home of a musical superstar. “Besides, I promised I wouldn’t seduce you, right? I do try and keep my word.”
Upstairs was a large living room with bookshelves lining the narrow brick wall at the back of the house. There were many books, but mostly CDs and too many records to count.
She slid her hand across the paper and leather bindings of the albums. “You have an amazing collection.”
“Digital just doesn’t sound the same. If I can find an old record of something, I buy it. Unfortunately, this piece doesn’t have that option.” He pointed to a couch in the center of the room. “Sit down. The acoustics are best there.”
Emily sat on the edge of the white linen loveseat, setting her small purse on the floor next to her.
A rumbling1filled the room and Mark came to sit by her on the couch. His thigh slid against hers and she scooted away.
He sighed. “It started. That’s what the rumbling is.”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
* * *
“What’s the piece called?”Emily asked without opening her eyes.
“Metacosmos,” Mark answered, watching her eyebrows twitch. She jumped at the clacking sound of bows hitting wooden instruments. He had done the same thing the first couple of times he listened.
He couldn’t call it music. Sound definitely. But it wasn’t as insulting if he didn’t call it music.
