Page 83 of Liar Byrd
“Why do you like to keep busy?”
She looks at me so long that I realize she’s no longer seeing me. And when she pulls a long silver chain from under her dress and her fingers close around it, I’m sure of it. “My mind wanders when I’m still. Sometimes it wanders to places I don’t want it to.”
I offered to teach her how to read music two days ago.
For two days, she’s avoided me.
I’ve seen her, and not coincidentally.
I’ve been actively looking for her, hanging around in case my presence reminds her of my offer, but she’s been avoiding any room she’s found me in before.
Except this one.
Thisis one room she can’t stay away from, and now I’ve heard her play, I understand why.
I don’t want to play the piano.
I hate it. I hate that it reminds me of the past. I hate everything that the gleaming piece of musical equipment passed down through four generations represents.
But she plays like no one I’ve ever heard before. Raw. From the heart. For the pure joy of it.
Nance smiles more, no longer overwhelmed by too much work. Jessica mostly keeps her distance from me and Makhi, but I’ve heard her laughing with Vonn in the dining room, a soft, husky sound when he surprises a laugh out of her.
I’m becoming obsessed. I know that, but I need her to play the piano again, and I need to see her smile. So I ask her, “Have you thought about my offer?”
“I tried really hard not to,” she whispers.
“But?”
Her eyes stray to the gleaming grand piano. She chews on her lip, and there’s so much hunger in that one look—so much need—that staying away must have been torture for her. “Nothing makes me feel the way playing does.”
I walk over to the piano, take a seat, and lift the lid.
Behind me, Jessica is silent.
By the time I find the music forThe Girl with the Flaxen Hairand set it on the stand, she’s slipping onto the bench beside me.
“If you need more hair dye, Nance can get it for you,” I say, my eyes on the music.
“She would want to know why.”
“Your secrets are yours, Jessica. Tell Nance what you need from town, and she will get it for you, or write a list and give it to me. I’ll get those things.” Going into town isn’t wise after I provoked the sheriff but I can live through five minutes of awkwardness in the grocery store or pharmacy for Jessica.
She plays G minor. “Aren’t you going to ask why I was dyeing my hair?”
“Do you want to tell me?” I ask, turning to look at her.
Her head is down, but I feel her watching me out of the corner of her eye. “No.”
I turn away, refocusing on the music. “Then I won’t ask. Do you want me to play again, or should we start learning to read the music first?”
“Will I be able to play more music?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Could I play every piece of music in your book if I learned how to read it?”
I nod. “You’ve been driving without a map,” I explain. “Taking the long way around. Eventually, you get where you want to go.”
Someone with less patience or persistence would give up long before they learned how to play something as complex as Debussy. I know I would.
“But this is like driving with the GPS?” Her eyes are on the sheet music, her forehead creased as she leans closer to it as if shortening the distance will make understanding easier.
