Porcelain Keys (27 page)

When I opened the bathroom door, the dreamy passages of
The Venetian Gondola
drifted up the hallway from the parlor. Devin was performing in a Mendelssohn tribute in three weeks, so he would be practicing a lot while we were here. As I inched my way down the hall, the living room slowly came into view. Orange embers glowed in the stone fireplace. Devin sat in the parlor in his black suit jacket, swooning in the harmonies he drew from the piano. In front of the window, the Christmas tree sparkled with white lights and glittery ornaments. And Thomas sat on the sofa, ankle resting on his knee, head bent to the book in his lap. With a pencil in his hand, he made strokes in the book as though drawing something.

It was still shocking to see him sitting there, and I quietly observed him, taking in the visual details that had been lost to me for far too long. He wore a dark green zip-neck sweater, jeans, and hiking boots. His features seemed more rugged than before. The shadow of a beard framed the strong curve of his jaw, and his hair was longer, dark
shaggy waves falling across his brow and onto his collar. He appeared thicker, more mature and muscular. But what struck me the most was that he was even more arrestingly beautiful than I remembered.

His pencil paused, and he lifted his gaze to the parlor and watched Devin play for a moment. I couldn’t see his expression, but his jaw tightened like he was annoyed. Or was he jealous? As though feeling my gaze on him, he turned his head and raised his eyes to meet mine. I caught a look of raw pain before he composed his expression into a small but warm smile.

I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know which mask to put on, or whether I should simply go without one. What was I going to say to him? I had so many questions to ask him, but I didn’t know how to go about it. How could I talk to him with Devin here? And what if I had a chance to talk to him alone? Did I even want him to know that I wanted answers? Or should I just pretend I was not affected by him being here? While I was thinking all this, Thomas kept his gaze on me, his little smile slowly disappearing.

Vivian came out of the kitchen and announced that dinner was ready. My time for indecision was up. Thomas rose from the couch and followed Vivian into the kitchen. Devin came out of the parlor and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, holding his hand out to me.

“You look gorgeous,” he said with a wide grin.

I met him at the bottom of the stairs and took his hand, and we walked into the kitchen together.

W
ow, Vivian,” I
said as I walked into the kitchen and saw that it had been transformed like the rest of the house. “You’ve been busy.” The once-bland room was now a warm and colorful country kitchen, complete with red tile backsplash, rooster border, and plaid curtains.

“Like I said to you before,” she said proudly, “it needed a woman’s touch.”

Devin pulled out my chair, then sat beside me. There was some shuffling on the other side of the table as Vivian awkwardly tried to figure out where to sit, whether to take the seat across from me or to leave it open for Thomas. Thomas sat across from Devin, putting an end to her dilemma.

After Vivian offered grace, an uncomfortable silence settled over the table as we dished up chicken cacciatore and roasted asparagus. Vivian kept glancing between Thomas and me, only adding to the discomfiture of his sudden reappearance.

“Where’s your father?” Devin asked me, breaking the silence.

“At work,” I said. “You’ll get to meet him tomorrow.”

“Jed is a firefighter.” Vivian’s green eyes beamed with pride.

“And a hunter, or so the wolf in my room tells me,” Devin said. He smiled at me playfully. “Speaking of disturbing decor, you never told me you collected dolls.”

I kicked him under the table. “I don’t.”

“Oh, those are mine,” Vivian said apologetically, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Goodness, I hope they’re not too disturbing. Most of them are family heirlooms. They seemed to go best in that room, seeing how it’s the most feminine. I hope you don’t mind, Aria.”

“No, not at all,” I said. “It’s not my room anymore anyway.” I glanced across the table at Thomas, who was looking down and tearing off a piece of chicken with his fork.

Devin must have followed my gaze, because he said, “So . . . Thomas, is it?”

Thomas looked up and nodded. His expression was flat, unreadable.

“How exactly do you know Aria’s family?” Devin asked.

“Oh,” Vivian broke in, “Thomas used to live right next door to Aria. And his Grandpa Frank lived there before that, isn’t that right?”

Thomas nodded and gave Vivian a little smile.

I wished he would say something. I decided to ask him a question, if only to hear his voice. “So, Thomas,” I stammered, and his eyes lit up like he was surprised to hear me addressing him. “The Netherlands?”

“Yeah,” he said soberly. “Zierikzee, to be exact. It’s about an hour from Rotterdam.”

We’d performed in Amsterdam on our European tour, and it was unnerving to think that I’d unknowingly been only a couple hours away from him. “Vivian said you were fishing?” I tried to keep the incredulity out of my voice but didn’t entirely succeed.

“Well, not recreational fishing. I’ve been working on a trawler.”

“What do you fish?” Devin asked.

“Mostly plaice and sole.”

“We tried some sole when we were in London, remember, Sweetie?” Devin asked me with a nudge. “It was good. Had a mild taste, like sturgeon.”

“Yeah,” I said weakly, “I think I remember.”

“So,” Thomas said, “you got into Juilliard. That’s great.”

“Yeah. It has been great.”

Small talk. Stupid, fruitless small talk. We may as well be discussing fried eggs. I wanted to grab Thomas by the collar and demand an explanation, but I was forced to politely sit there and ignore the purple elephant sitting at the dining table.

“And what about you, Devin?” Vivian asked. “Tell us all about yourself.”

Not that Devin ever needed much encouragement to talk about himself, but he seemed more eager than usual, maybe because he sensed competition in the room. While he gave a dazzling account of his life, including prestigious training and worldwide performances, I couldn’t keep from stealing glances at Thomas. He sat there expressionless, mechanically eating and staring at a spot on the table like he was tuning out everything Devin was saying.

Fishing,
I thought.
Fishing plaice and sole.
I imagined him on his vessel, breathing in salty sea air and feeling the sun on his shoulders, pulling in a net bursting with fish and smiling to himself, all while I lay curled in a ball on my bed, crying for him until I couldn’t breathe. Maybe I didn’t need answers. Maybe I should just tell him to go and never come back.

“Aria, are you okay?” I turned to see Devin looking at me anxiously, and I realized I was not eating.

“I’m fine,” I said, spearing an asparagus and forcing myself to take a bite.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “You look a little sick.”

“You do look a tad pale, honey,” Vivian added.

“I’m fine,” I assured them again. “I think it’s just jet lag.” “Why don’t you go lie down?” Devin suggested. “I’ll put your plate in the fridge for later.”

“No, really. I’m fine.”

Thomas pushed his chair out abruptly and stood. He lifted his plate and turned to Vivian. “Thanks for the delicious meal, Vivian. I have some errands to run, but I’ll be back later.”

“Oh. Okay,” Vivian said, looking concerned.

Thomas walked to the sink and rinsed his dishes, then turned back to us. “Don’t wait up or anything. I’ll probably be back late.” With that, he walked out of the kitchen, and I stared blankly after him.

I felt Devin’s hand on my leg. “Go lie down,” he encouraged gently.

I heard the front door open and close, and I fought an urge to jump up and run after him. “Okay,” I conceded, feeling like I really did need to lie down.

I left the kitchen and went upstairs. As I passed the
room Thomas was staying in, I opened the door, wanting to make sure his things were still there. The plaid quilt on his bed was pulled back halfway and the sheet rumpled. His suitcase lay on the floor at the end of the bed. I went to my room, flopping onto the fluffy satin bedspread and trying to calm myself.

I heard Vivian and Devin cleaning up dinner downstairs, and I listened to the chatter between them. Devin was asking her about her doll collection, obviously to redeem himself for calling them “disturbing” earlier. I smiled, endeared by his attempt to reassure her.

Soon Devin came up and tapped on my door before coming in. He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my hair.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I looked into his concerned eyes, and I suddenly felt ashamed. Why did I care that Thomas was here when I had such a wonderful guy? I sat up, wrapped my arms around his waist, and leaned my head against his shoulder. “I’m feeling better,” I murmured into his ear.

“Do you want to catch a movie or something?”

I shook my head. “Let’s go down to the parlor and play some duets.”

He smiled and patted my hand. “You’re my kind of girl.”

We spent a couple hours in the parlor, improvising playful duets from pieces that weren’t meant to be duets. It was a pastime we’d grown into, and I recognized, not for the first time, what a good friend Devin was to me. I watched his hands move across the keyboard with absurd proficiency while he flashed his contagious smile, the way he always did when he wanted to pull a smile out of me.

Devin Fineberg was everything I’d ever wanted in a
man. And he had just asked me to marry him. Why wasn’t I throwing myself into his arms and promising him my heart and soul? I wanted more than anything to be able to accept his marriage proposal. I’d told myself earlier in the car that I couldn’t give him my whole heart until I knew what had become of Thomas. Well, Thomas was here, and now was my chance to get answers. For Devin.

I decided I would wait for Thomas to get back, then I would pull him aside and ask him the things I needed to know. Then I could move on with my life. I could get married and never look back.

It was midnight, and Thomas still hadn’t come back. Devin had gone to bed an hour earlier, and I’d spent the remaining time pacing in my room and glancing out my window every ten seconds. Where was he?

I shivered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the drafty window or from my nerves. I rubbed my arms, then grabbed an afghan from the window seat and wrapped it around my shoulders before resuming pacing.

Finally, around twelve thirty, headlights lit up the driveway. I looked out my window to see Thomas getting out of the rental car. My pulse was suddenly thrumming in my ears, and I sat on my bed and took a few deep breaths. Why was I so nervous? It was simple, right? I just needed to ask him some questions. I listened to him come up the stairs and softly shut the door to his room. I got up and paced a few more times, shaking my hands at my sides to release my nerves.

“Okay, Aria,” I said to myself, “you can do this.”

After a few more minutes of pacing and building up
courage, I opened my door and tiptoed into the hall, where I stopped in front of Thomas’s door. I tapped lightly and waited a few seconds, but when I didn’t hear anything, I cracked open the door. Soft light filled his room from the lamp on his side table, and he lay on the bed on his stomach, head turned away from me. My hand trembled on the doorknob as I slipped into his room and closed the door behind me. I waited for him to turn and look at me, but other than his back expanding with each breath, he didn’t move.

“Thomas?” I whispered.

He remained still. Could he be asleep already? It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since he got back. Then I noticed he was still in his clothes, boots on and everything. Different boots than the ones he’d been wearing earlier. They were heavy snow boots that came to his mid-calf, and they were caked with mud. Where had he been? What errand would have caused him to come back with muddy feet?

I circled the bed and saw that his eyes were closed. Whatever he’d been doing, it must have exhausted him. A strange heat flooded my veins at the sight of his face, leaving me weak. I sunk to my knees, letting the afghan fall off my shoulders to the floor. I leaned on the edge of the bed and stared at him, letting my eyes wander over the familiar lines of his face. Without thinking, I reached up and brushed his tousled hair away from his eyes. Between his brows was a faint line, as though he dreamed of something that troubled him. His lips, full and perfect, were chapped from being exposed to the elements.

I listened to his deep, rhythmic breathing and felt my own breath falling in time with his. It was like I’d been
unknowingly holding my breath since the day he left, and having him here allowed me to breathe again. The burning uneasiness that I hadn’t even realized was there was gone, a calm replacing it. The relief was so overwhelming, I bent my head and released a wave of silent tears.

When I looked back up at him, I questioned my plan. Did I really want to hear him say the words that would pulverize my heart once and for all? Did I want to see him laugh and shake his head, and look at me condescendingly like I was delusional, like I was the one who was in the wrong?
What do you mean you waited for me all that time,
I imagined him saying,
I thought I made it clear when I left that I wanted nothing more to do with you.
Maybe his words wouldn’t be quite so harsh, but it didn’t matter. I would be torn apart by any way he phrased his rejection.

Maybe if I waited until tomorrow, I would feel stronger, more prepared to hear the words that would cut me off from him permanently. I stood and went back to my room, deciding I could wait one more day to get my answers.

I slept restlessly all night. Every time I closed my eyes and started to drift off, a jolt of fear would wake me up. Fear that when I awoke in the morning, Thomas would be gone. I knew the thought was irrational, so I forced myself to stay in bed. When I finally fell asleep for long enough to dream, I dreamed I was walking along a deserted seaside street in the Netherlands, searching for Thomas. I called out his name, and my voice echoed like I was inside a hollow cavern. The harbor was filled with boats, and the water beyond was unnaturally still, like a sheet of glass that would shatter if disturbed. He was not there. I ran down the streets and called out his name until my voice
was hoarse, then I sank to my knees in the middle of a cobblestone street and wept bitterly into my hands.