Page 94 of The Triangle

“Oh,” Alec says, thinking about that for a second.

“You’re…” God, why is this so hard to say? Why can’t I just tell him?

“I’m… what?”

I uncross my arms, grip the countertop with both hands, and lean back. This makes him smile. Because the whole gesture is one of opening up. “You’re…”

“Danny,” he grunts. “Come on, bru. Just say it. It’ll feel good when you get it out.”

I want to hit him right now. But I want to touch him too. “We’re in this together,” I blurt.

“No,” Alec says, shaking his head. Enjoying how uncomfortable this moment is for me. “Not good enough.”

“I got your back,” I add quickly.

“Danny. Bru—”

“And when the time comes I’ll choose you, OK? I’ll choose you.”

That shuts him up.

“We good?”

He tilts his head a little. Trying to read between my lines. Opens his mouth to reply but then stops. Because somewhere in this house, someone is playing the piano.

“Well, that’s quite nice,” Alec says. “When did she get so good? I thought the only thing she could play was Chopsticks.”

“You’re asking me?” I say. “You’re the one who’s had her all these years.”

He shoots me a look that says, Don’t.

And if I were in a fighting mood I’d shoot him one back. One that says, Try to make me. But I’m not in a fighting mood. Not at all.

“Should we go find her?” I ask.

He’s still very close to me, his hand still on my back. “Yes, but first… answer me this, OK?”

“What?”

“Will you always need her to have me?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Fair enough.” He sighs. And then he withdraws his hand and walks off in the direction of the music.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - ALEC

Schumann leads us toward her. Like a snake charmer calling for serpents.

Entering the room from behind, neither of us make a sound to disturb her playing, and she doesn’t turn to see us.

Kinderszenen. “Scenes from Childhood.” Schumann’s Opus Number Fifteen. Thirteen movements that call to mind a young person at play. At times giddy, at times somewhat more melancholic, it was the first piece of music I ever remember hearing as a boy. My mother played it for me when she was trying to get me to sleep.

I have no idea how in the world Christine would know that.

Moreover, I had no idea Christine could play like this. Jesus Christ, man. For all the things I’ve seen and done in my life, it warms my spirit to know that I still have the capacity to be surprised.

The piece is almost twenty minutes long, and for almost twenty minutes, Danny and I stand behind her. Listening. The movement of her head, her neck, her shoulders, suggest that she’s lost in the music. Bathed in euphonic bliss.