Page 112 of Van Cort
Maybe, just maybe, it would have worked, and we would have been whole and free.
“I’m still here,” he says from the lounge.
“I know.” Of course I know. I can feel him.
“That wasn’t the secondary elevator."
“No. I didn’t feel like it.”
“That could have been problematic,” he replies quietly.
I frown at the sombre tone in his voice, wondering what’s going on. And then the twinkle of gentle notes comes into the air, a tune playing that we both know well.
I freeze, hands braced on the kitchen island, and listen to the music box. Memories flood back into me as the melody sounds in the air. It brings things to the surface, no matter how hard I’ve dismissed or been distracted from them.
“How was the date?” he asks.
My eyes narrow. Straight to it then. Let’s forget about the sound of our past haunting us, shall we? “Why do you want to know? Jealous?”
“No. Just interested in how pissed she still is.”
“She was. She’s better now. What did you do?”
“We disagreed on some fundamentals.”
“Which fundamentals?”
“Trust. Honesty. Behavioural expectations.”
“Well, she’s still got her hackles up. But she’s also incredibly well-versed in romance and enjoyment. You’re lucky she’s aspliable as you’ll need.”
The music holds my attention until eventually the mechanism slows and the notes peter out to nothing but the occasional barely there sound.
Walking into the lounge, I find him fully suited and staring at Lara’s music box still in the centre of the coffee table.
“Did you apologise for me?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Did that make her happier?”
“It made her softer.” He nods and taps his fingers on his thigh, as if he’s playing notes on the piano. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be working?”
“Hmm. Probably.”
“Not, though?”
“No.” The melody carries on, and he continues to look like he’s miles away from the here and now.
“Thinking of Lara?” He glances at me as I sit opposite him, smiles slightly. “That music box is nothing to smile about, Rhett.”
I watch him think some more until he finally looks up at me fully and attempts to dismiss the trinket as inconsequential.
We both know it isn’t.
“How do you even have it?” he asks.
“I took it. The day after, when everything was fucked, I snuck into the cottage while they were out. It was part of us. It wasn’t for them to keep.” Again, another nod, this time followed by asigh. “I stayed at Andie’s last night. Slept the whole night beside her. She was surprised. Why?”
