Page 47 of This Ravenous Fate
She never understood why such a melancholic piece was sopopular to play at weddings, or considered to be joyful at all. Anyone who sat down and really listened to the song would understand the push and pull of the notes, and the pitting sadness they evoked.
Elise closed the piano. Her eyes caught on Sterling’s reflection in the shine of the fallboard. “How was it?” she asked, turning away from the piano.
“Beautiful, as always,” Sterling said. He pulled his hands from his pockets and sat on the stool beside her. “I’m no musical genius, but that song sounds very complicated. I can never tell if it’s supposed to be sad, or happy.”
“You don’t have to be a musical genius to understand music. I think this song is about happiness, sadness, and everything in between. That’s the beauty of music. Even if you’re not trying to decipher it, it calls out to you. It demands perception,” Elise said wistfully. She was still caught up in the last few notes of the song. Most music haunted her for hours after playing, but she knew today was especially different because of the specific song she played. It was a piece she played whenever her nerves were too fragile to talk through. Whenever she couldn’t sit still, or relax, her fingers found the keys. They seemed to work through everything for her, even if it was just for a bit.
Sterling nudged his knee into hers. “How are you feeling today?”
He was warm against her thigh, but Elise didn’t welcome the comfort like she normally did. Today, she craved the company of music more than anything, or anyone else. “Okay.”
“Just okay?” Sterling asked.
“Just okay,” she confirmed. “I suppose that’s not too bad, considering the circumstances.”
Sterling let out a gentle laugh. He was undeniably charming when his guard was down. For once, his soft curls were not completely slicked back; some bent around his ears and one particularly loose piece of hair flopped over his forehead. As children, a day would never pass without Layla teasing Sterling about his hair being too long and him needing a haircut. Elise was the only one to smooth his hair out of his face without a scolding word. Now, he kept his hair slicked back while workingfor a more professional look, something she imagined him saying when he sent her a letter with a picture of his new hairstyle attached.
Elise brushed the hair off his forehead. He caught her hand when she was done and clasped it between his palms. “Please be careful, Elise. I mean it.” The sudden serious tone he took on surprised her.
She wanted to pull her hand back, stop this vulnerable moment from happening before they were in too deep, but it was too late. “Sterling…”
The anguish in his eyes cut the words right from her throat. “I always hoped for you to come back from France—for you to be unchanged, and for you to still be my best friend. I’m an awful friend for hoping you wouldn’t find anyone you loved more than me while you were away. I couldn’t stand the thought of you sharing your deepest secrets with anyone but me; I still can’t. I know it makes me selfish, but I’ve lost everyone. I won’t lose you too.”
For a moment, Elise was speechless. She could watch him,silently willing the tears cresting in his eyes to not fall because if he descended into despair, then she would follow quickly after him and Elise wasn’t sure she could handle that. “You won’t,” Elise whispered. She stood and drew him into her arms. Even standing while he sat, she was barely taller than him. His head fit against her chest, forehead resting right over her sternum.
Aside from Elise and her family, Sterling had no one. When he was just four years old, he had seen his father being lynched. In the Deep South, interracial relationships were inconceivable, much less tolerated. His mother was shunned for being a white woman who associated with a Black man, and when she gave birth to Sterling, who represented the very thing white people feared—whiteness tainted by otherness—their entire family became a target. The uncle had led the lynching of his own sister’s husband. She tried to escape the South and find peace up north, but the grief her heart carried for the loss of her husband proved to be too much for her. Sterling was an orphan by the time he was eight years old.
Elise still remembered the day her father brought Mrs. Walker and Sterling into their house for a job opportunity. The overbearing sadness in Mrs. Walker’s eyes bore into Elise and to this day, she still saw it in her darkest moments with Sterling. It had almost scared her off from playing with him then. But Layla had feared nothing. At just six years old, she threw their toys down and went right up to Sterling with her hand outstretched.
“I’m Layla. This is my best friend, Elise. Do you want to be ourfriend?” Layla demanded.
Sterling had raised his brows, curious. Elise couldn’t blame him; Layla was incredibly vociferous as a child and that could be intimidating. They might not have been friends if their parents hadn’t put them together as infants. Separation was never an option. They grew up closer than roots spiraling across a neighboring tree’s trunk.
Now, inhaling the familiar scent of Sterling, guilt crushed her heart.
“Some part of me is more jealous than scared of you working with Layla now,” he muttered.
Elise’s throat went dry. “There is nothing to be jealous of.” Her own words felt like a lie. She had grown to crave the heart-pounding thrill Layla caused in her.
She was a fool who didn’t even understand her own feelings. Elise desperately hoped that wouldn’t make fools of them all.
21
Washington Square Park was crowded with people waving flyers for the mayoral candidate, Hugh Arendale, in the late September air. Elise had never been to a political rally before, but she had an idea that this one would be particularly flashy. Just like Stephen Wayne. She wondered how much of this display he had personally funded.
Mr. Wayne moved through the crowd right behind Mr. Arendale with a bright smile on his face, though his security scowled every time someone got too close to them. The man was like a puppeteer, never straying too far from the strings he chased after.
His smile stretched even wider when he approached the Saints and stopped Mr. Arendale to greet them. “Sir, you are lucky to be graced with such wonderful people.”
Mr. Arendale lowered his cigar and his gaze passed over Elise slowly at first, then stopped short when he got to Sterling. “Thankyou for being here.”
Sterling offered his hand for Mr. Arendale to shake. “Pleasure to be here, sir,” he said with a gentle smile.
Mr. Arendale clamped his mouth over his cigar then gripped Sterling’s hand hard with both of his own. “Pleasure to have you, son.” Happiness lit his eyes as he beamed before moving over to kiss Analia Saint’s cheek.
Elise shared a look with Sterling. “Well, if you ever see yourself in politics, you know who to call.”
“And be a part of this country’s corruption? Absolutely not,” Sterling muttered.
