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“Can you watch him while I get dinner ready?”
“That’s why I’m here,” I say.
Goodness knows I didn’t come for her culinary skills, which are notoriously lacking. But to my surprise, as I play a game Ezra loves where I pick him up and put him back down until my arms burn with effort, something begins to smell delicious.
“What are you making?”
Sienna laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine. One of my neighbors brings me meals in exchange for music lessons. I just heat it up.”
“Resourceful as ever, I see.”
“And I’m learning.” She spoons some stew into porcelain bowls and sets them onto the table. Ezra races to his smaller table next to us, banging his hands onto it with pure joy. “I made the bread. I’m having better luck with baking than cooking, if you can believe it.”
“Miracles, I’m told, happen every day.”
“Oh, like you’ve learned to cook since…” she trails off, reluctant to remind me of the fact she left, but I ignore it.
“I haven’t learned to do anything, truth be told, except sing increasingly depressing songs and abuse my instruments into disrepair.” I take a bite of the stew. “This is excellent, by the way.”
“I’ll pass my compliments to the chef.”
The bread is good, too. I can’t help but feel a little inadequate. I told her about the depressing songs in jest, but it’s true. She’s been out here learning how to cook and run a shop and raise a person, and I’ve just been, what?
Languishing?
The rest of the dinner progresses quietly between us and exuberant between Ezra and his stew, which he seems determined to work into every hole on his face. Eventually, he slumps, exhausted.
“I’ve got to get him bathed and to bed,” she says. “Can you wait here?”
I clean up the dishes while I wait. It isn’t long—he’s a little wild, but at least he seems to be a good sleeper.
Sienna steps into the kitchen slowly just as I finish rinsing the sink.
She looks exhausted, and I probably don’t look much better. I suppose we’ve both been through the emotional ringer.
“Please.” I don’t want to scare her away with questions or demands. As much as my heart aches for the truth, I can tell she’s nervous enough already. “I know you asked for space. I’ll give you as much as you want. But please. Let me see my son.”
She’s shaking. It nearly kills me not to reach for her, but I promised space. I wait for her to answer.
“Okay. You can…you can visit us here in the afternoons, if you want.”
My eyes shut in relief.
“But you can’t tell anyone.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it. My eyes fly open in surprise. “Promise me.”
Who is she hiding from if it isn’t me?
19
SIENNA
Three.
To me, it’s felt like a lifetime. But it’s really only been three years since Ris and I met. The day should have been uneventful, but I’ve found myself playing it on repeat these last few weeks.
I’d only been working at the theater for just shy of six months at that point in time. The owner knew I could play and tune, but for the first three months, I was only allowed to clean. I scrubbed the bar, floors, and tables to prove myself, and finally, my time came.
A zagfer was sick, and I was allowed to touch an instrument again. I had no idea how much it would kill me not to be able to polish and play.
