Yet here he was, smiling.
She came to the end of the concerto. As her hands fell away from the keys, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and breathed a warm kiss on the back of her neck.
“It sounds wonderful,” he said.
“Not as clumsy as it did last week anyway.”
“Can’t you ever just accept a compliment?”
“Only when I deserve it.”
He sat down beside her on the piano bench and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You’ll be spectacular, Maura. And don’t start pointing out all your mistakes because I can’t hear them anyway. And neither will the audience.”
“Jane will be there. And Frost is bringing his wife, who’s supposed to be some classical music expert.”
“They’re going to the concert? I thought you weren’t going to tell them about it.”
“They found out. They are detectives, after all.”
“I never understood why you didn’t tell them. They’re your friends. It’s like you’re embarrassed about it.”
“Embarrassed that I might screw up.”
“That’s the perfectionist talking again. You know, no one really cares that you aren’t perfect.”
“I do.”
“What a heavy cross to bear.” He smiled. “So far, you’ve managed to fool us all.”
“I almost regret agreeing to this performance.”
“And after it’s over, you’ll be so happy you did.”
They smiled at each other, two unlikely lovers who should never have found each other. Who had tried to stay apart, tried to deny their need for each other, and had failed.
He noticed the empty wineglass on the table beside her. “Need a refill?”
“Definitely. I’m done practicing anyway.”
She followed him into the kitchen and watched him pour wine into her glass. The cabernet was rich and meaty, one of her expensive indulgences, but when she saw he didn’t pour a glass for himself, she suddenly lost her craving for that second drink and she put it down after only one sip. “You’re not having any,” she said.
“I wish I could, but I can’t stay tonight. There’s a parish finance council meeting at eight. And then I have our immigration outreach committee, which will probably go till ten.” He shook his head. “There just aren’t enough hours in the day.”
“Oh, well. More piano practice for me tonight.”
“But I’ll be here tomorrow night.” He leaned in for a kiss. “You’re not too disappointed?”
“It is what it is.”
He reached out to cup her face. “I love you, Maura.”
Over the years she’d watched as more and more silver streaked Daniel’s dark hair, as lines deepened around his eyes, the same changes she saw in her own face. He would always be the man she loved, but with that love came regrets as well. Regrets that they would never live as a normal couple or sleep under the same roof every night. They would never walk hand in hand in public, their love displayed to the entire world. This was the bargain they’d made with each other, and with his god. And it would have to be enough, she thought, as she heard him walk out her front door.
She returned to the piano and stared at the concerto score. There were still so many sections she needed to master, so many passages that did not flow effortlessly under her fingers. This was a challenge, yes, but also a much-needed distraction from Daniel, and from the never-ending disassembly line of bodies that passed beneath her scalpel.
She turned to the first page and once again began to play.
My mother is beautiful.
Amy often thought that about Julianne, but never more than tonight as she watched her mother knead the dough for fettucine. Back and forth Julianne rocked, massaging magic into flour and water, sending up little puffs of white from the black granite countertop. At forty-one, Julianne still had slim, toned arms from years of kneading and whisking and chopping. Her face was aglow from the effort, and her temple was streaked with flour. Baker’s war paint, her mother called it, and tonight Julianne the baker was happily engaged in battle, her sleeves rolled up, her favorite striped apron tied around her waist. Amy’s father was working the evening shift at the hospital tonight, so it was just the two of them for dinner. Girls’ night, which meant they could eat whatever they wanted.
Tonight it was fettucine with fresh asparagus. Julianne fed the dough again and again through the pasta maker, rolling the sheets ever thinner. Amy grated lemon zest, releasing its sharp and bracing scent. Teamwork, her mother always said. You and me against the world.