“Except for one little secret,” I teased.

“I’m entitled to one, right?”

“Sure,” I said. “Everybody gets one free secret.”

He nodded and looked away. I could feel my heart fluttering wildly, like a tiny bird in my chest.

“Do me a favor?” I asked.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Kiss me, I wanted to say.

“Play for me,” I said.

CHAPTER

17

WE WASHED THE dishes and cleaned the kitchen, and then he played for another hour and a half. The music room was small, with a low ceiling. The piano was in the center of the room and there were other instruments in cases along the walls. In one corner was a miniature harp on a stand. Barrett sat on the red-upholstered piano bench and I lay sprawled on an ivory curve-backed sofa feeling like Marie Antoinette. Even the design of the chair made me feel self-conscious—it was the kind of furniture you would drape yourself over, posing attractively to catch the attention of some tasty morsel you were trying to seduce. I was surprised Laura allowed it in the house, actually—to me it seemed to be asking for scandal. (Kiss me, I continued to not say to Barrett.)

I closed my eyes and let myself float away on the music. But after a while, I began to worry about his hands. Were they getting tired? So when he came to the end of the song he was playing, I said, “Let’s take a break.”

He looked up, and I swear he’d forgotten I was there. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Is it boring?”

“No,” I said. “Oh my God, no. But your fingers must need a rest.”

He sat back and wiggled them. “They’re okay.” But I noticed how he rubbed his palms together.

“Your mom will be back soon,” I said, reluctantly getting to my feet. “She’ll probably be tired. I should stay with Agatha until dinner.”

He nodded, stretched his arms over his head, and then sighed. “Thanks for listening.”

I was struck by the realization that I might not get another chance to sit in this room and listen to him play, and that made me want to cry. We had several weeks left, but would there be more time without Laura’s presence? Without John? Even without Agatha? His music had felt like a connection to something in myself I hadn’t quite known was there—not my old self who no longer existed, and not some mysterious future self I could possibly become. But the thread of me that had always been and would always be there inside me, unchanged and unchanging. The part of me that was a good sister, that cared for Agatha, that longed to help Laura make sense of her sister’s death. In the music I heard myself.

“Wait,” I said, and he looked up at me. “One more?”