Porcelain Keys (28 page)

I woke up in the late morning to the sounds of Devin’s arpeggio scales. I threw my blankets off and jumped out of bed, the terror of my dream forefront in my sluggish mind. I went straight to Thomas’s room and flung open his door.

He was not there. But his suitcase still sat on the floor, with two pairs of boots next to it. A black peacoat and a heavier brown coat lay draped over the footboard. I breathed a sigh of relief.

With my head a little clearer, I came out of his room and approached the top of the stairs, staying in the shadows of the hallway. From a bird’s-eye view, I saw Dad sitting on the sofa next to Thomas. They sat closely, angled toward each other and engaged in a hushed conversation.

I recalled the last time I’d seen Dad. We’d had a tense conversation on the porch before I left for Juilliard, and I’d left angry and hurt. I watched him now, waiting to feel something. But strangely, seeing Dad produced no effect on me. The tension caused by Thomas’s presence supplanted everything else. I tried to set it aside but could only manage to peek around it, just enough to see Dad and the unavoidable task ahead of me. The task of greeting him, of surveying him, of determining where we stood.

Devin still played in the parlor, but Dad didn’t seem bothered by it, or to even notice it. Thomas held an open book in his hands, and he was pointing to something in it and asking Dad a question. I watched their lips and strained to hear their words, but their voices were drowned out by Devin’s scales.

I must have finally caught Thomas’s eye, because he looked up at me. He closed the book and stopped talking, then nodded his head slightly in my direction, alerting Dad to my presence. Dad turned and glanced at me, then stood. A feeling finally came to me then, and it was easy to pinpoint.

Dread.

I thought about going back to my room. I was still in my pajamas, after all, and my long hair was tousled and tumbling over my shoulders. But they’d already seen me, so what did it matter? The sooner I got this over with, the better.

I stepped forward and slowly descended to meet him, a nauseating grip tightening my stomach with each step. What was I going to say to him? How would he react to me being here and to hearing Mom’s piano being played? He’d been doing so well without me here. Would my presence dredge up feelings too difficult for him to handle? Would his words bring memories too heavy for me to bear?

Dad waited for me to get to the bottom of the stairs before he took a cautious step toward me. “Aria,” he said with a nod.

“Hi, Dad.” I glanced at the parlor, and Dad must have seen the anxiety in my face because he followed my eyes, then turned back to me with a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay,” he said. “A lot has changed around here.” With his red hair trimmed short and his usual plaid shirt tucked into his jeans, he looked much the same as he did the last time I saw him. And yet he looked different. His blue eyes were clear and untroubled, his countenance relaxed and friendly.

“I can see that,” I said, feeling myself relax a little too. “Thank you for fixing the piano. It means a lot to me.”

He nodded once, seeming uncomfortable with the subject.

“Did you get a chance to meet Devin?” I gestured to the parlor, intending to officially introduce them.

“Yes,” Dad said. “We met earlier, when you were sleeping. He seems like a really nice fellow.” His face turned thoughtful, and a look of penitence wrinkled his brow. “It’s good to have you home, Aria.”

“Thank you,” I said, unable to say honestly that it was good to be home. I asked him how his taxidermy business was going and how the guys at the fire station were doing. And to my surprise, he asked me about Juilliard. With vagueness and caution, I told him about my classes and my trip to Europe.

Thomas stayed seated while Dad and I talked, but my eyes kept flitting to him. Over a plaid cotton shirt, he wore a half-buttoned azure blue sweater that made his eyes stunningly bright. He was watching me, studying me.

Vivian came bouncing out of the kitchen, her youthful ponytail swaying back and forth. She teased me about sleeping in, then asked if I wanted some french toast.

“Sounds wonderful,” I said, starving from not eating much dinner the night before. I felt Thomas’s eyes on me as I followed Vivian into the kitchen, but I couldn’t meet his gaze.

Vivian dished up a plate of french toast and set it in front of me along with a tall glass of orange juice. She started doing dishes while I ate, chattering away about something, but I wasn’t hearing anything she said. All I could think about was Thomas, how I was going to pull him aside and
talk to him, and how I was going to preface and phrase all my questions.

“What’s he doing all the way out there?” she asked.

I looked up from my plate, thinking I’d missed a question, but she was squinting out the window.

“Who?”

“Thomas. He’s plowin’ through the snow toward the mountain.”

I jumped up and rushed to the window. There was Thomas, walking into some pines on the east side of Dad’s barn. “Maybe he’s going to check on his telescope.” I turned to Vivian and grabbed her arm. “Vivian, I need your help.”

“What with, sweetheart?” Her face was suddenly concerned.

I heard the playing in the parlor stop, so I whispered, “I need to talk to Thomas today. Alone.”

“Say no more,” she whispered back.

Devin came into the kitchen and I turned to greet him. He looked extra handsome in a snug V-neck sweater, the red color complementing the richness of his eyes. He put his arms around my waist and bent to kiss me. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning,” I replied with a smile.

“Devin,” Vivian said as she turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a towel, “I’m going to do some last-minute Christmas shopping today. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to come with me. I need someone to carry all my bags for me.”

“Uh . . .” He hesitated, looking at me with uncertainty. I nodded and smiled to encourage him. “Sure,” he finally said. “Can Aria come too?”

“Oh, no,” Vivian said, putting her hand on her hip and
shaking her head. “I want you to help me pick out a gift for her, and I don’t want her to see what it is.”

Devin eyed me warily. “Will you be okay here alone?”

“I’ll be fine. I need to catch up on my practicing anyway.” It was true. I did need to practice. But it would have to wait until after I talked to Thomas.

I went upstairs and showered and dressed as quickly as possible, putting on a heather-blue sweater and jeans. I half-dried my hair and dabbed on some makeup, then came back downstairs. I looked out the front window to see Vivian’s truck gone, and a black wing of clouds rising ominously on the north horizon. I slid into my coat and snow boots, then hurried out the back door.

A whirl of snow powder rolled across the drifts in the backyard, and a frigid gust of wind whipped my hair as I walked away from the house. I shoved my hands in my pockets and shivered. I thought about going back to get my gloves and hat, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. Besides, I would be at the tree house soon, and it would provide enough shelter.

I followed the path Thomas had blazed in the calf-deep snow, past the barn and over the wooden fence, through the orchard and across the field of grass. The sky grew darker, and flurries of icy dust rolled across the landscape with each blast of winter’s breath.

When I entered the aspen grove, Thomas’s prints started to turn in an unexpected direction. Instead of leading to the tree house, they went east toward the mountain. I followed them to the mouth of the canyon, where I paused and stared at his boot prints leading up the snow-covered trail.

What was he doing hiking up a mountain in the snow? I
shivered and considered going back to the house to wait for him. But how long would it be before he came back? Now was my chance to talk to him. I had to take it. He couldn’t be that far up the trail anyway.

I dropped my boot into his track and started up the mountain to find him.

T
all pines and
barren aspens shuddered and bowed in the restless atmosphere, and snow began tumbling down in thick waves. Between the veil of falling snow and the tangled, frosted undergrowth, the trail was almost impossible to make out. My only guide was Thomas’s footprints, which were getting more indecipherable the farther I went.

I stopped, debating whether to just go back to the house and wait for him to return. I studied his tracks again. They looked fresh, so he had to be nearby. “Thomas!” I called out, my voice echoing in the canyon. I decided to go a little farther. I called out his name as I hiked along, getting colder and colder until my teeth were chattering. Reason told me to go back, but determination pushed me forward. He was up here somewhere. I had to find him.

I came upon an enormous log that was too high to step over. Its dead branches hung over the stream bank, and on the other end, the roots were twisted up in thorny shrubs. I peered over it, and there were Thomas’s footprints,
continuing up the mountain. Not seeing a way around, I climbed over the log and slid down to the other side. But instead of my feet hitting solid ground, the snow collapsed beneath me.

I tumbled down an icy embankment to the frozen stream below, hitting the ice with such force it made a cracking sound and knocked the air out of me. I lay there a moment, groaning in pain, then carefully stood and stepped toward the bank. But on the second step, my right foot plummeted through the ice and frigid water flooded my boot.

I pulled my boot out and lunged for a twisted root protruding from the embankment. As I clung to it, the precariousness of my situation hit me like an icy snowball to the face, and with the sharp sting came a handful of terrifying words.

Frostbite.

Hypothermia.

Death.

In an instant, I saw a headline in the newspaper.
Juilliard Student Dies in Snowstorm.
I heard Margo saying to the other instructors,
“Quel dommage.
She had so much potential.”

I pushed the thoughts away and forced myself to think rationally. There was a way out of this. One step at a time, I would make it back to the warmth of Dad’s hearth. The first step was getting back up the icy bank to level ground. I began climbing back up, my bare hands stinging as they clutched tangles of frosted roots. Halfway up, I lost my footing and slid back down to the water’s edge.

I raised my face to the sky and screamed Thomas’s name one last time. It wasn’t a beckoning call or a cry for help. It was an angry curse that slashed through the canyon walls.

The icy water in my boot was excruciating. I knew I needed to take it off and warm up my foot, but I had to get up the embankment first. I looked downstream, searching for a spot that might be easier to climb up.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I heard footsteps. The space between the sounds grew shorter and shorter, like someone was running.

“Aria?”

I looked up to see Thomas sliding down the embankment toward me, his face etched with concern. Grabbing an exposed root, he skidded to a stop at the water’s edge and held his free hand out to me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I said angrily, even though I wasn’t fine. “But my boot is filled with ice water.”

He turned and climbed back up the embankment, then after tossing his gloves aside, he stretched a hand out to me. “Grab my hand.” I put my hand in his, and he pulled me back up to level ground.

He picked up his gloves and led me to the shelter of a nearby pine tree. After kicking some snow off a log, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Here—sit down. We need to take your boot off.” He knelt down in front of me, the knees of his black snow pants compressing the snow beneath him.

I had my arms wrapped around myself, and they refused to move from the warmth of my body, so he pulled my boot off for me. He peeled off my sock, then wrapped his warm hands around my foot. “Your foot is like ice.” I shivered, and he looked up at me. “And where are your gloves? And hat?”

“At the house. I didn’t think I’d need them.”

“Put my coat on.” He let go of my foot and stood, shrugging out of his coat.

“I’m not taking your coat,” I objected. “You’ll be cold.”

Ignoring me, he draped his heavy coat over my shoulders. I shuddered from the warmth of it. “I don’t get cold,” he insisted, and when I shot him a skeptical look, he added, “I grew some thick skin these last couple years.” He slid his gloves onto my hands, then pulled off his beanie, making his thick hair stand up in all sorts of directions. After brushing some snow out of my hair, he put his beanie onto my head.

“We need to warm up your foot,” he said, taking my foot in his hands again. He straddled the log next to me and faced me.

“I’ll take off my coat and wrap my foot in it,” I said as I began unzipping my coat.

He shook his head and swatted my hands away before zipping my coat back up. “That won’t warm it up fast enough. And you’re cold enough as it is.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

He looked down and pursed his lips, the way he used to when he was solving a tough mathematical equation. Snowflakes were sprinkling down from the pine branches above us and into his dark hair like confetti. And whether from the cold or from hiking I wasn’t sure, but his cheeks were flushed in a strikingly flattering hue. Why did he have to look so adorable? He looked up at me with his bright blue eyes, and one side of his mouth pulled up into a little smile. “Well, the best way would be to put it against warm skin.” He scratched the dark stubble on his jaw, then raised an eyebrow. “It’s warm under my shirt.”

My mouth dropped open. “I’m not putting my foot in your shirt!”

“Have you ever had frostbite?”

“Isn’t there another way?”

“It depends on how flexible you are.”

I pulled my foot toward my chest, trying to shove it under my coat. It wasn’t happening. Why hadn’t I been doing yoga? I rested my foot on my knee and let out an exasperated sigh.

“So what’s it gonna be?” he asked, fighting a smile. “Awkward five minutes, or amputated toe?”