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“They’re not all like that. Sam is working hard to build a case.”
“For what?” she scoffs, sitting straight again. “To be refused at every turn. Who wants to prosecute a judge’s son? We were pariahs after he left. Rumors did the rest. None of them wanted to listen to the truth.” She stands, pacing back and forth as tears stream freely from her eyes. I should have kept my mouth shut. “The things they said about Mama having an affair. They spoke about her like she was the one to blame.”
I look away, afraid she’ll see the truth in my eyes.
“I know. I was there, Amy.”
She stops pacing, her face turning a shade of red I haven’t seen before. “And what? I wasn’t?”
Already exhausted from this conversation, I stand and tuck her hair behind her ear. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s the truth. I was too busy being selfish.”
“Amy, you weren’t selfish. You were nineteen. You were living.”
“Yeah, but I left you behind, and look how that turned out. Our father almost—”
“He didn’t almost anything,” I snap, hating when memories assault me. “I’m here. I’m still here. And so are you. You’re here now. Let’s not go down memory lane,” I beg, staring at our interlocked hands.
“I hate that this is happening again,” she chokes out, finally calming.
“It happens every day. Unfortunately, Mama isn’t the first, and she’s far from the last. Papa did us all a favor when he left. Other women aren’t so lucky.”
She kisses the top of my head. I instantly relax. This is an argument we have too often. She feels guilty because she left. I feel guilty I couldn’t change things when she did.
“I don’t know how you do it. Work with those women every day. Listen to their stories. You’re amazing. I wish Mama would let you help her.”
I smile, but it falters. “I wish I didn’t remind her of him.” Her eyes water again, but she doesn’t deny it because we both already know.
Shaking my shoulders, I try to lighten the mood. “We don’t have a genie, so that’s enough wishes. I’m going to make the same deal with you as I did with Jake. No more stalker talk. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist unless we get another update. I live these stories every day at work. I don’t want to carry it home with me, and I didn’t come here to relive the past. I’m half-expecting the violins to play on their own.”
Through a sob, she throws her head back and laughs.
“It’s a deal,” she agrees, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Play for me?”
“Of course.”
The music erases the weight on our chests and extinguishes the burning memories. I continue to play even as more customers come and go from the shop, and people are pulled in by the sounds floating out onto the sunny street.
“Can you come back tomorrow?” Amy laughs, kissing the top of my head when I stop playing.
“I should have put out a hat. I could have made a profit.”
She sits on the other side of the chair and plays on her end. It’s a song from our childhood. Mama got sick of us fighting over the piano, so she taught us music we could play together.
Over the years, we became more attuned to each other, and we just go with it.
As I join in, she asks, “Now that his son is leaving, you’re both going to be on your own in that big house, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it. That’s freaky.”
“So, you weren’t thinking about him when you walked in here all flushed?”
How does she see everything?
“Okay, he’s attractive, and he knows it. I may have had a mini fantasy.”
“Did something happen?”
