Linnea

He is playing for her.

I feel it as soon as he begins. It’s like a funeral speech, but a musical one.

He wasn’t able to say goodbye to her, so he’s doing it this way instead.

For a moment, I forget everything. I can only look at the boy in front of me.

“Linnea,” hisses Kate. “Go.”

I want to lash out at her, but I swallow the words. This is not the time. When all of this is over, I’m going to confront her about that nickname. Then I’ll tell her that she’s lost me. That I don’t want to be a replacement for Isolde anymore. I want a friend who’s honest, who wants me as I am. Not someone who’s using me to fill a gap.

I look at Fender, who’s still playing. It’s as if he’s somewhere else entirely again, but this time I don’t find it scary at all.

For the first time, I understand what Isolde must have seen in him.

His bun is messy, the sleeves of his denim jacket and shirt are rolled up sloppily, but he looks like an angel anyway.

The way he loved her could almost make you jealous.

I have to find Claus, for him.

Fender is the only one who hasn’t lied to me, who hasn’t used me. All that time he was himself with me: angry and broken.

Lucas nods at me and I leave. I slip through the group of tourists to the stairs.

I know Lucas is close behind me, but I don’t look back. Claus mustn’t suspect anything.

On the second floor, I see a couple by the balustrade, watching Fender. I hear them saying how beautiful the song is.

There’s a family with two young children, a businessman, a member of the hotel staff, and group of girlfriends in their forties.

Fender has half the hotel glued to his playing. A strange sense of pride comes over me.

I glance back. Lucas is hiding behind one of the plants. I can see a bit of his shirt.

He’s not being very subtle.

I peer around the entire second story, but I don’t see Claus anywhere.

Could he be waiting on another floor?

I flash Lucas a quick signal to stay here. I don’t want to run the risk of him being seen.

I take the stairs to the third story, but it’s completely empty. On the top story, there are more people. A little boy of about seven is hanging enthusiastically over the balustrade. His mom is holding him back, clinging to the tip of his hood.

No Claus.