I stand silent and still at the arched entryway leading into the piano room. And I watch her unlike I’ve ever watched her before. She owns me in this moment.
I close my eyes and let the music course through me; shivers sweep over my skin like faint ripples on the water’s surface.
But I’m awoken from the lure all too quickly.
The music stops as Sarai becomes confused by the keys. Although disappointed that it came to an end so abruptly, I stay where I am hoping that she’ll pick up where she left off and finish the piece out. Her soft form appears vulnerable, fragile in the faint moonlight enveloping her from the window, a halo-like light around her body, illuminating the ends of her hair.
Please, just play it, Sarai. Don’t think about it, just play it.
She starts again from where she stopped, but after a few keys she gives up. Frustrated with herself, her upper-body arches forward, her hands gently touch her forehead.
I sit down beside her on the bench.
“I’ll teach you,” I say, arching my fingers on the keys. “If that’s what you want.”
She turns her head to look at me and as she does, I know that she’s wondering if I’m only referring to the music.
She nods slowly.
I start from the beginning and play the piece all the way to the point where she stopped. And then she tries again. And again, until my guidance sees her through and she’s in control of the keys the way she was before, the way she brought me into this room. It haunts me, every somber second of it, so much so that my closed eyes brim with tears, but only my heart can manage to shed them.
The piece ends at the end this time and silence fills the space around the two of us.
“I don’t want to sleep alone,” she says gently.
And I don’t force her to. Sarai falls fast asleep curled up next to me in my bed. Right where I want her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sarai
When I wake up the next morning the sun is bright through the massive window even though the curtains have been drawn. I’m alone in the bed, but I know I’m not alone in the house. It was Victor’s dress shoes tapping against the floors outside the room that woke me. My heart is exhausted, but my mind and my body feel refreshed. I can’t remember the last time I slept that soundly.
I don’t think I ever have.
I raise my body from the mattress, untangling myself from the sheet. I can’t believe I did that last night, but I did and it’s over with and I can either face Victor and not be ashamed, or hide away inside this room for the rest of my life.
I choose the realistic.
As I step outside of the room, I wonder why we didn’t get up before dawn to leave like he had planned.
He’s sitting in the living room alone when I walk in, fully dressed in his best suit with his usual bags sitting on the floor next to his feet, minus the bag with the money. There’s a newspaper in his hands and a mug of black coffee on the table next to the chair.
“Why didn’t we leave earlier?” I ask walking the rest of the way into the room.
He lowers the newspaper and then decides to fold it halfway and set it on the table next to the coffee.
“I thought you could use the sleep.”
My face flushes inwardly, failing at my attempt to not be ashamed of my sexual tirade, but really I doubt his answer had anything to do with that.
“Thank you,” I say.
I raise my eyes to him again. “Looks like you’ll have to buy me another pair of shoes,” I point out, pressing my bare toes into the cool, hard floor, my hands clasped together lying on my backside.
The shoes he bought me before had been left at Samantha’s when we had to get out of there in a hurry. I’ve not had the best of luck with shoes as of late.
“It has already been taken care of,” he says crossing one leg over the other and straightening his vest.
I gaze around the room, looking for department store bags or maybe some women’s clothes that had been left here for whatever reason.
A short middle-aged woman wearing a navy blue scrub uniform comes through the front door carrying a gaudy purse on one arm and several oversized store bags on the other. A set of keys jangle in her hand after she closes the door with her hip. She manages to drop the keys into her purse, twisting her wrist awkwardly to reach it.
“Oh, you must be Izabel,” the woman says bright-eyed. “I’m Ophelia. It’s nice to meet you.” I nod and introduce myself even though she apparently already knows my name, well the name that Victor gave me, anyway.
She drops her purse in the middle of the floor and walks across the large space into the living room towards me, the store bags still dangling on her arm and by the looks of it, starting to cut off the circulation.
“You were right about the size,” she says looking to Victor. She sets the bags down on the immaculate couch. “And I have a daughter your size,” she says looking at me now, “so hopefully I chose wisely. Meleena was a handful growing up, that’s for sure.” She gestures her hands dramatically. Rings adorn her fingers. “Of course, it was my fault for raising her on Versace and Valentino but she is the most envied girl when she walks into any room, so I suppose the shit she gave me and my bank account was worth it. Here, let me see you.” I try to conceal the awkward look I know I’m giving her as she pulls a cute sun dress of sorts from one bag and holds it up against me.
I decide to look across at Victor instead, hoping maybe he’ll tell me exactly who this woman is and what she’s doing here.
His eyes smile at me.
I do a double-take. Did he just smile at me?
“Perfect fit,” Ophelia says.
But then she sets that dress aside and begins to pull other items of clothing from the same bag. The next bag is full of gift boxes where she opens each one and unwraps an outfit engulfed in extravagant tissue paper and tulle that probably cost more than it should. As she goes on and on about her spoiled, yet ‘deserving’ daughter she goes through each and every outfit, holding them up against me as if to imagine what I might look like in them. Or, perhaps, picturing what ‘Meleena’ might look like in them.
She is very odd, that one.
But he let me. And I’m not sure how to feel about that. I know he didn’t get any pleasure out of it and I wouldn’t expect him to, but the only one of us who seems to feel awkward about it is me.
Victor stands up from the chair and leaves the newspaper on the table. He reaches into his right pocket and pulls out a roll of cash.
“For your daughter’s clothes,” he says, placing the money into Ophelia’s hand. “And there’s enough there to pay for your time as well.”
She drops the roll into her own pocket.
“So, I guess this is it then,” Ophelia says. “If you ever decide to move back into this area you know how to find me. My rates will stay the same for you.”