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“Hi, Alice,” he said. “How are you doing?”
I peered at him over the book. He was in a dark gray sweater that accentuated his biceps, and jeans that accentuated…everything. He was holding a couple of department store bags.
“I’m good.” I tried not to breathe differently as he moved closer. His long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, as it often was when he returned from his violin studio. Hisluthier’sstudio. That was the official name for a violinmaker, not that he had it on his business cards. Everyone knew what the Fierro family did. “How was your day?” I asked, trying to be a good roomie.
“Fine. Have you eaten anything? Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m good. Blue might be hungry,” I said, patting his head.
“I’ll feed him.” He looked at me a moment. “Have you watched any television? Seen any updates on the news?”
“No. I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about it.”
He rubbed his forehead, then brushed back a lock of escaped hair. “I saw a story about the…” His face looked pained every time he talked about it. “The explosion. The investigators discovered it was a problem with the restaurant downstairs. They’d set up a bypass gas line to the fryer or something, some illegal line that wasn’t up to code. The guy responsible…”
His voice trailed off. I knew that the owner of the restaurant had died, along with many of my neighbors. I hadn’t known any of them, because I hadn’t lived there long enough to forge friendships, but they’d been people, perhaps just waking up and stretching, having morning sex, or brewing a nice cup of coffee. Then bang, gone. The whole tragedy seemed unreal, like a nightmare.
What if I had been there? How would it have felt to die that way? Would I have suffered?
He touched my cheek, drawing me from the darkness. “Don’t think about it,” he said. “Don’t dwell on what might have been.”
“It’s hard not to.”
The touch of his fingertips was gone, leaving too much room for cold. He lifted a couple shopping bags and placed them on the bed beside me. “I picked these up for you today. Nothing fancy.”
“You don’t have to keep buying me clothes.”
“I don’t mind.”
I took the bags, ashamed that I hadn’t gone out myself, or ordered something online by now. “At least let me pay you back.”
“Not necessary.”
I sat in the window seat to look through the pretty things he’d bought me: more warm sweaters and tops, and an upscale brand of jeans, along with delicate blouses and dark slacks I could wear to work. They were all in my favorite colors, price tags removed. I was already taking up space in his house and eating his food, and now he was buying designer clothes for me. I needed to crawl out of my misery hole and get back to life. “Thank you so much,” I said. “You’re too generous.”
“I just want you to be able to return my mother’s clothes.” He laughed. “It’s jarring to see you wearing them. Do you have money to…you know…get whatever else you need?”
He meant things like bras and underwear. Of course he wouldn’t buy me those, in case I misunderstood. “Yes. God, I have money. I’m fine. I can get some things today. I’ve just been…” I covered my face to hide my blush. “I’ve been wallowing.”
“I get it. I’d wallow too.” He glanced at Blue, who’d taken up near-permanent residence in my wallowing bed. “When do you think you might go back to work?”
“The Thursday after New Year’s. Met Orchestra management said I could take longer, but I need to get back to it.”
“What’s on the schedule to play?”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about my Grapeleaf, exploded in a thousand shards of wood and varnish. Milo’s grandmother named all Fierro’s violins up until she died a few years ago, and she’d called mine the Grapeleaf because the wood had come from the Mediterranean, and because the tone “flowed like wine.” Notable instruments all had names, like children, and were tracked by enthusiasts, as well as the companies that insured them. I’d get money for the loss of my Fierro, but it wouldn’t be the same as having it. Somewhere, Fierro registries were being altered with a note next to the Grapeleaf entry.Lost in an explosion, early 21st century.
“I think it’s Brahms and Mozart.” Tears rose in my eyes. Stupid, that I couldn’t get over the Grapeleaf. It wasn’t like I’d lost a child. “I’ll send out some emails to my section mates. Someone will have a violin for me to borrow until…”
Until I found a new instrument, which seemed an impossible task right now, when I couldn’t even buy new clothes.
“I have so many violins,” Milo said. “Please, take one to use for now. Even the Strad, if you want it.”
“Good God. I couldn’t.”
“You have to play something. Come on. Come take a look at what I have.”
I got out of bed to follow him to his instrument room. I’d avoided thinking about the night we’d gone in there, even though the room was just down the hall from my bedroom. I’d pushed down all the memories of him holding me, kissing me, sliding the hard outline of his cock between my legs as he groaned deep in his throat. It was too weird to think about, because he’d been so polite and distant since then.
