“The Fate Symphony,” Emily answered, its name popping into her mind from the Music Humanities class they’d both had to take in college. Part of the core curriculum.

“The Fate Symphony,” Rob echoed. “And you know the motif—”

“Ba-ba-ba bum.” Emily sang the opening bars softly.

“Right. Short-short-short long,” Rob sang back, replacing her sounds with words. “It’s amazing to me how he keeps that motif going, throughout. The melody’s not the same, but in all the movements, it’s there. Short-short-short long.”

Emily nodded, remembering the second movement as one they’d focused on in class.

“I was thinking about my life—my career—as a symphony the other day. And I think you’re the motif. The first movement was in college, when we played together, when we made magic on the stage. And then when I was composing scores, even though you weren’t there, you were. I kept thinking, ‘How would Queenie harmonize here? What would she do on the keys?’”

“You did?” Emily asked, too surprised to say anything else.

“I did,” Rob affirmed. “And now we’re in the third movement, the scherzo, and you inspired the song that put me on the map. I want you here with me, in the third movement.”

She looked at him, his eyes were intense, looking right at her.

“And then we can write the fourth movement together,” he said.

“Of your career?” she asked, sliding into psychologist mode, clarifying, making sure she knew what the subtext was.

“Of anything,” Rob answered. “My career or . . . anything.”

Emily thought about Rob’s analogy, about what the motif of her own symphony would be. It wouldn’t be him, she was sure of that. But it wouldn’t be Ezra, either. It would be, she decided, loss. The loss of her mother, of her first child, of Rob, of music, of her dad, in a way. Loss was what propelled her to follow the path she did, to become a therapist, to connect with Ezra. But now two of the things she’d lost were being returned to her. What did that mean for her fourth movement?

xxxi

Ezra and I got married! Last week! I felt like I should let you know. Or do you somehow already know? Your grandfather’s wife had too much chardonnay and told me that my mom was watching me, looking down on the moment, and I rolled my eyes and walked away from her. Because how does she know? How does anyone know what happens afterward? What happened to your grandmother? What happened to you?

I wonder sometimes if souls really can be reborn, like Ari suggested when you were inside me. Were you reborn as someone else’s child? Will you come back to me if Ezra and I have a baby together? Or is it over for you? Has your story been told, the ending complete? And that’s it?