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It only took Ethan a few moments to bring up the internet after he sat down. He passed the computer to her and she took it, typed and clicked away until she found the right screen and passed it back to him.
“There,” she said. “You can scroll through the images. They aren’t all there, but most of them are.”
She watched him as he slowly moved through the images, studying each one carefully, deftly zooming in when he could. She could feel herself grow increasingly tense, waiting for any comments or questions as he silently examined her finished work. For some reason his opinion mattered greatly. And if she was honest, it mattered more than anyone else she’d shown it to. Not since her professors at art school. Even Cassidy hadn’t evoked this kind of response. The realization unnerved her, not only for its surprise, but also that she didn’t want to consider its reason.
He looked up from the computer, his eyes wide and filled with appreciation, wonder. “These are stunning, Kate. So talented. I love them. Boccaccio’sLorenzo and Isabella, right?”
She stared at him, too stunned to speak for a moment. That he would understand, make the connection, was more than she’d expected. She’d omitted explaining it to him, not because she thought he would understand, but because she’d been so flustered and anxious to get it over with and had forgotten.
“How did you know?” she asked. The question held more than one meaning, she realized.
“You mean how did I recognize it?” He shrugged. “I’m no expert on old Italian, or rather Tuscan, but I can recognize some of the words as Italian and the images, well, they confirmed it.”
She gave him a surprised look. “You remember?”
He pulled back a little. “How could I forget? Professor Pickering would slay me alive.”
“You had Pickering for Western Civ Lit?”
“I did. You did, too, obviously.” He gestured at the images, now displayed on a grid on the computer.
“But when?” she asked. She had no idea why she’d asked the question.
He laughed. “I don’t know. Senior year?”
“Oh. Of course.” She barely remembered that year. She looked around, suddenly desperate to change the subject. She caught sight of some instrument cases lined up in the living room area, behind an armchair. “Are those your instruments? Can I have a look?”
She got up and walked toward them and caught sight of the piano on the wall opposite. “You have a piano too?”
Its quality was evident so that she could see without even questioning it that the piano was newly installed and not one that the Ziglers had left behind. She eyed the instrument cases. They were hard-shelled, some showing stickers so worn there was only a ghost of an outline of the word “fragile” on them. There were guitars and what was most likely a mandolin and another one she wasn’t quite certain of. She picked it up, curious, and laid it across the armchair to open it.
Ethan came up behind her. “It’s a Gold Tone GM6 mandolin guitar.”
She looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”
He reached around her and picked it up from the case. “Have you ever played one?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve heard someone play one once. A friend of Phil’s came to one of our music gatherings. But I was pretty young, and I don’t remember it that well.”
He went over to the sofa and took a seat, holding the instrument. He strummed it lightly, twisted a few pegs for fine tuning. It had six strings like a guitar, a body shaped like a mandolin, but with a longer neck. Its sound was fascinating. Higher pitched than the guitar, but a little deeper than the mandolin. This particular one resonated beautifully as he began to pick out a tune, his fingers deftly moving about the strings. Kate watched, captivated by both the sound and the sight of him playing. His talent, his natural ear, and inner sense of rhythm were all so perfect, so inextricably linked, it made her sigh with the beauty of it. She could watch him play for hours, his body in tune and completely absorbed in the music he was creating. She knew what he was feeling, that lifting, that sense of being lost in a different plane.
Envy and longing took her over and a huge sense of loss. How much time had passed since she’d felt that? The perfect bliss of playing music? But the loss was part of her payment.
His fingers, they were mesmerizing. So beautifully formed, as if each gene knew it must create the perfect hand for him to create and play this music. It was more than that, though. Even with the fedora on his head, she could see how much the music filled him, took him over. The words, sung in deep, vibrant tones that hinted and played with the emotions of the song, filled her just as the music did, almost as if she was physically connected.
Seated at the back of O’Connor’s at a table off to the side, her view of him was partially obscured. Here she could observe him carefully, marveling at the music he made, the words he wrote and the technique he used. At least that’s what she told herself, even as she was drawn to his face, her eyes following its shape, the contours of his face.
“So, I’m here.” Missy slid into the seat next to her. “Let’s see what the big deal is.”
Kate dragged her eyes away from Ethan and looked at Missy. “He’s good. You’ll enjoy it.”
Missy grunted and shifted her gaze to Ethan. Kate returned her attention to Ethan, confident that his talent would convince Missy that it was the music that drew her here every Thursday night. It only took a moment to get caught up in his music, in his voice, and everything about his performance.
“So that’s it,” said Missy, her voice dark and knife edged. “You want to play music with him, don’t you?Once you work up your wussy self to ask him. Here I was, thinking it was all a ruse so that you could ask him to play music withus,but you want him all to yourself.”
Kate looked at Missy in horror. She shook her head. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I just thought you would appreciate his music as much as I do.”
Missy gave her a sour angry look. “Do you think I’m a fool? Just look at you. You’re drooling over him, not his music. Him.” She rose. “Forget this. I’ve been patient with you missing practice, putting your college friends ahead of me. Ahead ofus.Our band. Fuck you, Kate. Just fuck you.” Before Kate could stop her Missy shoved her way through the crowd to the door and left.
