Page 12 of House of Clouds


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When I heard you sing that night.

Was it the song, was it your voice?

Or that you caught me in your sight?

It was only at midnight, only at midnight

I’d admit you were the one

Only at midnight, it was only at midnight

I’d hope that you would come.

The words flowed and the music with it, and somehow the chord became a perfect seventh, creating a finish she knew was right. Before she reached the last verse, the door opened. She halted, turned, and saw Ethan standing there.

“Sorry,” said Kate, rising, gathering her things. “I didn’t know this room was booked. I just came in on the off chance.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He placed a hand on her arm when she reached the door. “That’s really good. I didn’t know you could sing.”

Kate reddened, surprised and flustered by his intense scrutiny. She remained paralyzed by his gaze for a moment, certain her emotions were written on her face. “Thanks,” she eventually managed to mumble and hurried out the door before he could say another word.

Now, Kate could feel the weight of Ethan’s unasked questions pressing down on her. Beside her, Tom sighed softly. She swung her legs around to the side of the piano bench and perched her guitar on her lap. She knew her father must be studying her too. They’d been so careful to avoid any mention of Missy and anything connected with her in the few times she had been home, so it didn’t take any special powers to know they were aware of the slightest bit of a reaction from her.

She took a deep breath and fiddled with the pegs, plucked the strings, pretending that it required a slight adjustment, even though she knew that Ethan would have ensured it was perfect. Her calluses were long gone and her touch was off. Even now, without playing a note, she knew. It was going to hurt. She forced herself to stop the adjustments and strike up a chord. Any chord. A chord that would give her time to think. She didn’t know why she couldn’t think of a song. And then the “why” struck a memory. She smiled slowly and looked up.

She glanced at her father and began the riff. Slowly, a soft smile broke out on his face. It was one of the first songs her parents had encouraged her to sing, initially with the CD and then on her guitar. She began to sing, the words of Shawn Colvin’s song “I Don’t Know Why”coming out, the chosen key and register still easy and satisfying for her to sing. The group listened to her, her voice finding the familiar notes, the words something her parents had said reflected her own inquisitiveness and ultimately, her loyalty. Though the words might not apply now, she knew it would please her father and avoid any insistence on any other song that might call up memories she didn’t want. Her fingers felt awkward, her fingertips already sore.

As she began the second verse, she heard another guitar over to her right. It could only be Ethan. A moment later his soft harmony joined her voice, and they were singing, just the two of them, the words coming effortlessly from his mouth. She shouldn’t be surprised that he knew the song, and the fact that he did created a warmth that spread through her, lifting her spirits. She turned to him, his eyes catching hers, reflecting the emotions that flowed and eddied in her. The words took on a different meaning for a moment. Singing about if there were no music, laying down a life for that person, and though someone will make her cry, the singer would get her by.

Kate had to look away.

The song finished, Ethan giving it some lingering chords and an improvised riff. She was grateful for it. It gave her time to collect herself once again. At its finish she handed off the guitar to Tom and stood.

“Sorry, no calluses, so that’s me done for the night.” She put a grin on her face and made her way back to the occasional chair in the corner amid words of praise and thanks from the group. A soft, “that was really good, Kate,” came from Ethan, but she didn’t acknowledge it with anything more than a nod.

Five

Kate scanned the vast arrivals area of Leonardo Da Vinci airport, peering around clusters of families surrounded by baggage embracing, to the small number of drivers who held up signs hopefully to the tired stragglers emerging from customs door, wheeling large suitcases. The PA system blared out another message in rapid Italian, causing Kate to wince. A young man raced by, heading toward the door, his messenger bag flapping against his jean-clad leg. The outside door opened, and she looked over hopefully, but it was an older, gray-haired couple.

She leaned back against her perch on the wall nearest the customs door. Still no signs of Giancarlo. It had been a half-hour already. There had been no messages before she boarded the plane, when she’d texted him to tell him that the flight was about to leave. Was he annoyed that since she’d left Italy she’d only contacted him once, with a brief message to say that she’d arrived in the US? She checked her phone again and saw a missed call from him. In the noise of the airport she must not have heard it. She pressed the return call icon and listened. It connected almost immediately.

“Katerina? Where are you? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” he said in clipped Italian.

She fought through the fog of fatigue to unravel the meaning of his words. It took her a few moments to understand and another to calm the spike of impatience.

“I’m at the airport, where do you think I am?” she said in English. She just didn’t have it in her to phrase the answer in Italian. “I’ve been waiting for you for a half-hour.” She paused again, trying to collect herself. “Have you been delayed in traffic?”

“No. That’s why I phoned you. I can’t pick you up. Mamma needed me at the lawyers to solve some important issues that have arisen.” This time he spoke in English, as if he knew her expired patience and his transgression required it.

Of course, thought Kate. It could be for no other reason than Mamma needed him, to keep him from making the journey. But it seemed his mother always had an emergency.

“Fine. I’ll catch the train.”

“No, no,” said Giancarlo. “Take a taxi.”

“I can’t afford a taxi all the way to Rome, you know that.”

“I insist on paying,” he said. “After all, it was my fault you have to make your own way here.”

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