Page 29 of House of Clouds


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She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I like it. You’re good.”

She let the remark pass her by. “My dad thinks you’re good, you know. I mean, you are, but he really admires you, I can tell. And that’s no small thing, really.”

“I know,” he said, his tone serious. “I really appreciate it. I’m a big fan of his music. I have one of his CDs. I got it years ago, when I first heard someone play their music on the radio. I think I must have been about twelve.”

“Twelve?” she asked, startled. “You were twelve when you heard an American Sky song?”

He nodded and laughed. “Yeah, it made an impact.”

She blinked. She knew Ethan was under a year older than her. So that must have been right after her mother died. Of course, some local DJ would have played one of their songs.

“Which song was it, do you remember?”

“‘Rossetti Girl,’” he said.

She flushed with pleasure. She loved that song, and she knew her mother had too. “My dad wrote that about my mother because he thought she looked like she was something from the Pre-Raphaelite period. When my mother sang that song, she used to dress the part. You know, hair loose, flowing gown, big eyes.”

“I can picture it,” Ethan said, smiling at her. “You look like that too, sometimes. Like now.”

He reached out and touched her hair, which was loosely gathered into a braid. It hadn’t seen her straightener since she’d arrived.

She laughed, aware of his hand still hovering over her hair. “You’re kidding, I know. I look like I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge.”

He dropped his hand and looked away. “You look fine. It suits you. And what you’re wearing. It’s more like the Kate I remember.”

Her heart stuttered at his words. There was so much in those words that confused, troubled, and angered her, but she knew it was best if she just left it all alone.

“I’m not that girl anymore,” she said firmly.

He looked at her and nodded. Beside her, the dog nudged her hand, wanting a quick pet as they continued to the house.

Thirteen

The supermarket was busy enough, and Kate was glad for her list. She wasn’t certain she would have been able to get everything that was needed if she had to just walk around and think of it between the number of people shopping and the store’s new arrangement. Well, new to her. This was the second time she’d come, and she was still getting used to it. She pushed the cart toward the vegetables, consulting her list. The cancer counselor had given her a list of foods and a few brochures with recipes that would help her father with his digestion, and she was determined to do everything she could. It still felt surreal to be thinking in terms of advice from a cancer counselor.

The assortment of colors in the vegetable display caught her eye, and she smiled at the thought of photographing them. She’d taken pictures of the market at Piazza Navona in Rome many times and loved the play of color and shapes, the red peppers hanging down from a stall, the displays of reds, purples, yellows, and greens so vibrant against the white of the vendor’s apron and olive skin tone. This was different, more orderly, the inside UV light giving it a different tinge that she could exploit on the computer. She tucked away the thought for another time, when it was less crowded.

“Kate?”

The voice came from behind and startled her. She turned. Mark. He was older, his face sharper, more defined and his frame had filled out, becoming muscular. The blue eyes were the same, though. There was no mistaking them or the light of recognition in his eyes. The pleasure.

The harmonies were perfect tonight. Missy crooned into the mike beside Kate, their eyes locked, their voices in perfect sync. It was the best performance they’d ever given, and they both knew it. Missy was rocking it in jeans and Doc Martens, her long hair swinging in time to the fringes of her jacket and it made Kate smile. The little variations on the guitar Kate had added had made Missy laugh and answer with her own flourishes on her guitar. They were on fire. She looked out into the audience and could see Mark there, his fingers forming a chef’s kiss on his lips. He knew it, too, and was sharing the joy of it with them. The best night. The best night of their lives.

She stiffened at his smile. “Mark. How are you?” She kept her tone civil but distant. She didn’t want to encourage conversation. She would exchange the basic pleasantries and excuse herself.

Mark moved nearer and took her into a big hug. He still had his boyish smile and the sandy dark hair, although now it was tamed into a more conventional cut. “It’s so good to see you.”

She remained still, unable to bring herself to return the embrace.

“When did you arrive?” he asked, his tone warm, eager. “I’d heard you were in Italy or something.”

She nodded. “I’ve only been here a short while.”

“Are you here for good, then? Have the charms of Italy worn off?”

Kate gave him a wan smile. “No. I still live there. I’m only here for a visit.”

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