gesture toward my head, trying to think of the word my counselor used to describe it. “Have a gift, of sorts. More of a curse. I can’t listen to a song without my fingers moving.” The thought of how that must look to someone else makes me chuckle, but she clearly isn’t amused, judging by the stern expression still claiming her face.
This woman is going to be impossible to crack.
“So, why are you working here, if you have such an amazing gift.” She says this as if it’s not a gift, at all.
“You don’t believe me, even after I just played it for you?”
“That piece could’ve taken you months, years to learn. You claim you heard it once. I taught piano for many years. I know what’s possible and impossible.”
“Would you like me to play another?”
“I insist.”
“Okay, then.” Twisting back around to the piano, I set my fingers to the first note of Vivaldi’s Summer. I wish I knew the difference between easy and difficult pieces, but for me, they’re all the same. It’s only the music my fingers tend to stumble through that distinguishes them from one another. The first time I heard this one, I closed my eyes, imagining my every stroke at a spasmic speed, and I could picture every sound from every key I pressed. I’ve no idea what standard note I was playing, or whether sharp, or flat. I only knew sound, and when my ears heard it, my fingers longed to find it.
My music teacher would toy with me at times, speeding the song up to see if it affected my ability to copy. Not to be jealous, or angry of my talent, but to test my capabilities. No matter what speed, or tempo, I caught onto the keystrokes every time.
On the last note, I keep my fingers to the keys and smile. Not for Mrs. Blackthorne, but for how quickly I recalled a piece I hadn’t heard in years. One my music teacher played in broken segments, to see if I could assemble it as one fluid song in my head.
“Vivaldi. One of the more difficult compositions.”
For a woman whose mind isn’t always reliable, she certainly has some surprising intuitive moments when it comes to music and dolls.
“My Lucian liked to play for me. He was very good.” As she stares off, the corner of her lips lift with a smile. “He knew the notes, of course.” Pausing, she tips her head, her expression hardening with a frown. “His father hated it. Thought it as a weakness in our son.” With a scoff, she shakes her head. “Can you imagine? The level of concentration and focus of the mind that goes into playing these complex pieces, and he thought it weak.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve always wanted to learn notes.”
“Did you not have someone in school to show you?”
“My music teacher, but the idea of staying alone with him after school gave me the creeps.”
A slight smile curves her lips. “Isn’t it funny, the way we deny ourselves based on our fears?”
Absorbing her words, I sit quietly for a moment. “You taught piano. Could you teach me?”
“God, no. My piano teaching days are long gone. I’ve no interest anymore.” Frail fingers lift, and she scratches her chin. “Lucian still remembers, I’m sure. He could teach you.”
Seems she’s lost her mind again, if she thinks I’d ask her son for piano lessons.
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
“You’re afraid of Lucian, as well?”
“No, I just … I know he’s a busy man. I’m sure he doesn’t have time for piano lessons.”
“He has time to fuck the help. I’m sure he can squeeze an hour, or two, to show you some notes on the piano.”
A flare of discomfort snakes beneath my skin with her comment, until I’m left wondering which of the help he’s fucking. Giulia? Or one of the other maids I’ve seen bustling about over the last two days?
“Even with half his face ruined, he still manages to charm the ladies.”
Maybe the ones he’s attracted to.
The image I found the night before comes to mind, and as much as I want to ask her what happened to him, I believe I have to be careful around Laura, and treat every question as a possible trigger. “He’s always had a way with the ladies, then?”
“My God.” Rolling her eyes, she shifts on the chair. “In school, they literally wouldn’t leave him alone. He attended an all-boys school but there was a sister campus, as well, and those