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Because this hotel meant the world to me, it gave me a good network of people and good friends in the business. And it gave me Reagan.
And Reagan kept me on my toes. She gave me a reason to live again. She had been this feisty ball of energy that I could never get enough of. She challenged me, she calmed me. She was my anchor and my sail, keeping me steady and pushing me forward.
***
“Can you believe this is our first date ever? Like a legitimate date,” she said, grabbing her glass of wine before sipping at it. Tonight, she wore her hair up, and her eye was almost healed enough to be covered up by foundation. She looked exquisitely delicious in her berry-colored, ruched dress that sculpted her figure to perfection. I couldn’t wait until we got home later tonight.
The date was spontaneous. It was our first day back to work after making it official, and I thought it would be nice to celebrate. She had shared her complaints earlier about some staff that whispered about our relationship in the halls or in the kitchen. But she said she didn’t care. She was happy and nothing would ruin it for her.
“That’s not true,” I corrected, slicing my medium rare steak. “We went to McDonald’s that night and ate in the parking lot even if it was a total inconvenience.”
“That wasn’t a date. I doubt you even liked me then,” she teased, smirking at me. She was breathtaking. And I didn’t know if it was possible that my love for her only intensified every day. Each morning, when I woke up with her arms around me, I thought to myself how much I loved her more than yesterday.
“I think I liked you since Clair de Lune. And I loved you since Prelude in C Major.”
She froze at me naming the tunes she had played that night. And I couldn’t help but remember the first time I heard her play. It had stirred something in me that glued me in place outside that banquet hall. I immediately knew that she belonged there. Playing that piano. On that stage. The next course of action was simply deciding which event I was going to let her start playing at so the world could see how great she was.
“You know all the pieces I play?”
“I learned them in school before, and you gave a deeper meaning to them. Because I fall in love with you even more when you play the piano.”
“I love you, too,” she smiled an endearing grin, her lips quivering as she was moved by my confession. “Every tune I play, I play for you. Remember that.”
“Even the sad ones?”
“Even the sad ones.”
Chapter twenty-six
Reagan
Two Months Later
The chandeliers glowed, bathing the elegant emptiness of the banquet hall.
My elbow rested against the piano as my other hand played with the keys, a pencil tucked between my fingers.
A half-empty music sheet was perched on the desk. Notes, lines, and names were scribbled on them, and the corner doodles were made by Mommy when she’d have trouble writing music. She’d hum while she drew little hearts or flowers on the sides. And when inspiration caught her, she’d continue adding notes.
Although this sheet was the last one she wrote, she had been planning that we write this together. But then the accident happened. I didn’t have the heart to pick it up and finish it. Yet I had packed it with me to Florida when I left home, thinking that it would make me feel like she went with me.
And when I woke up this morning, I asked Matthew if we could stop by my place. And I dug this sucker out of one of my boxes and brought it to work with me so I could start adding notes until I finished it.
“I’ve been waiting for you to play a piece for ten minutes.” I jumped at Matthew’s voice, my elbow slipping and hitting a few keys.
“You scared me,” I gasped as my hand went to my chest to steady my heartbeat.
I had been waiting for him here until he’d finished whatever it was he was doing. And sometimes, I thought he intentionally dragged his work out to let me play for a while.
It had been two months since the fiasco. Two months since Matthew said he loved me. Two months since Ryan left and went back to Bali. Two months of contemplating whether I should call Daddy. But I had made a mental decision that I was going to try and talk to him on the holidays, which gave me ample time to think about how I wanted it would go.
“Keep playing,” he demanded. He was wearing his coat now, telling me he was ready to go. But I wanted to show him this piece. Because it was like introducing my mother to the man I loved, and I couldn’t think of a much better way.
“Come and sit,” I said, tapping the space on the piano bench beside me, scooting a little to the side for him. “Tell me how this sounds,” I asked as my fingers started playing the tune. It took a lot of courage to play it because the melody, when played nonstop, made me remember Mommy. And how the music had echoed in every corner of the sunroom when she was alive.
I could hear her say, “It’s not done yet, baby.”
“I’ll help you.”
