November 1st

“Then you came along.”

“I want you to play this,” Adaire said as he dropped a stack of sheet music beside where I sat on the sofa.

I glanced at it, crossing my legs so I could rub my ankle. The title of the song brought me a strange mixture of comfort and fear, as if even though it was familiar to me, my fingers would not move the right way when I sat down at the piano. “This piece is Russian,” I said. “And look at you: You’re dressed like Russian soldiers.”

“We aren’t Russian.” Adaire stood beside his desk, skimming a notice that had been placed there.

“Why would the military dress their soldiers as Russians?” I mused, watching Adaire’s face. It generally peeved the soldiers when they were compared to Russians.

Adaire looked at me levelly, his eyes calm. “I can’t control what they make us wear.”

“But you can control what you do while wearing it.”

“Your leg sore?” He reached into one of his desk drawers, then approached me and knelt. “Our people made this ointment,” he said, holding up an unmarked white tube. “It’s supposed to make the pain go away, like topical Novocain.”

I held my hand out, but he took the tube back.

A sly smile spread across his face. “It only works if someone else does it.”

“I don’t do fairy tales anymore,” I remarked flatly. Realizing he would not give up, I let him take my foot and watched as he rolled up my pant leg and unwrapped the bandage around my ankle. To take my mind off his hands, I picked up the sheet music and skimmed it, a smile spreading over my face.

“Do you know it?” Adaire asked, looking up at me.

“I played this at my very first recital,” I said, flipping the page. “I know it by heart.” I smiled. “When I used to rehearse, my brother would take the music and I would have to catch him if I wanted it back.”

“How long ago did he die?”

I met Adaire’s eyes – I hadn’t mentioned that he had died, but I figured he had guessed from the look on my face. “Four years ago.” I ran my fingers down the music, feeling the texture of the ink. “It was his birthday – he was thirty-three, and my parents were going to take us all out for dinner to celebrate. But I was still in college and had to study for finals, so I didn’t go.”

“You looked after his daughter?”

“Yeah.” I watched his hands move across my skin, relieving the knot of pain there. “I was going to call them, to screw my final. But by the time I dialed…”

His hands paused. “They were already in the water.”

Confused, I narrowed my eyes. “How did you…?” I searched my brain for the answer to my question: How had he known? Then, realization dawned on my face. “Oh. Okay. I should’ve known that not even the journal was safe.” Anger bubbled inside me, but I didn’t have the strength to express it.

“And the thing is,” I went on, “I was just getting over it, too. I was just beginning to drive past water again, to go across bridges with my eyes open. I went a little bit crazy afterwards, what with losing my parents and my brother at the same time, but I was done with hospitals and psychiatrists. I had a little girl to take care of, and she needed me to be there for her.”

Adaire started to wrap my foot again, keeping his eyes down.

“But then you came along.” I nodded toward him, even though he couldn’t see me. “You took Hannah away from me; killed my friends. And now I’m back to where I was before.”

“And now you don’t feel anything.” His eyes were remorseful as he reached up and touched my face. “If you did, you’d be throwing stuff and yelling at me.”

“If I do that, I won’t stop.” I shook my head. “You’ll have to put me back in the psych ward, because I won’t stop. But I’m just done. I could tell you I’m hiding the journal where no one will find it, and you’ll still tear the house to the ground to get it, because you’re an ass, and that’s what you do.”

Adaire took his hand from my cheek and lowered his gaze, but I doubted he felt bad. “Will you play that song for me?”

“Just tell me when.”

“Damn it, Sam.” He stood. “Get angry. Push me.” He shoved me into the sofa. “I hate it when people don’t show their emotions.”

“Then you must hate yourself.”

He picked up the music and shoved it at me. “Play it now.”

I took the music and pushed myself to my feet. He knew. He knew what playing the piece would do to me, and as I led the way to the living room of the mansion, I started to dread giving him the verification he wanted.

The other soldiers were in the basement, gambling and cleaning out the wine cellar. They were lucky to have found a house so large, and so well-stocked with alcohol. Adaire had told me they were stationed there as a lookout, that they would more than likely never see battle. That was why he had taken me, but I don’t think he expected what he got.

As I sat on the piano bench, I took a few deep breaths. This performance would probably be the hardest of my life, I knew. I hadn’t played the song since my family had died, and had no idea how I would react to the familiar movements of my fingers, so alien to me now.

I straightened my back and put my fingers on the keys, then closed my eyes and started to play. All the emotions that erupted in my veins battled one another for control, and one won out above the rest: Loss. Such a deep sense of loss that my fingers felt like they weren’t part of me anymore, but still were heavy as lead.

When the song was over, I let my hands fall into my lap and looked up at Adaire. He sat in a chair with his feet up on another, approval in his eyes. How could he be so calm? I wondered as my jaw tightened.

“I’m going to bed now.” Without looking at him again, I headed for the stairs. In my bedroom, I sat on my bed with my back to the door and pulled my blanket over my head. I stared at the palms of my hands, tears falling from my eyes.

Adaire entered behind me – I had gotten so used to the sound of his boots by then. “That was beautiful,” he said quietly, sitting on the bed.

Trying to hide my tears, I wiped my eyes quickly before he could see. “I want to break my hands,” I whispered. “There’s so much blood on them.”

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken, but I knew he had heard my words. “I have a little sister.” I felt him watching my back. “When my dad and I got our enlistment notices, we sent her and my mother across the border. They don’t even know he’s dead now.”

“Like you told me at the bar,” I said; “‘It’s a war. People die.’”

“That’s not the point.” He paused for a moment. “She’s going on with her life in a place she doesn’t know, in a language she doesn’t speak. She’s staying strong when she has no idea what’s really happening here, and I’m so proud of her for that.”

“What’s that have to do with me?” I looked at him over my shoulder.

He met my eyes and held them. “Your brother would be proud of you for what you’ve done.”

My breath caught in my throat. I turned away and shielded my face from his sight, afraid of the way he looked at me.

“I know he’d be proud of you.” Adaire put a hand on my back comfortingly. “Hell, I’m proud just talking to you.” Giving me a couple pats, he let his breath out, then stood. “You’re doing okay, Sam,” he said from the doorway before closing the door and leaving me to my tears.