My throat tightened.
“What did he tell you?”
Rebecca’s face twisted.
“Mom—”
“What did he tell you?”
She took a breath.
Then another.
“He said the piano had never been his.”
I frowned.
Rebecca’s eyes filled completely.
“He said he bought it, but it belonged to the two people who gave the music a reason to exist.”
I could not speak.
Sophie looked up at me.
Rebecca continued because stopping had become impossible.
“He said you were the one who filled the house with music. And I was the reason you kept playing when money was tight and you were tired and you thought teaching neighborhood kids was pointless.”
I remembered Thomas bringing me coffee between lessons.
Rebecca doing homework under the piano.
The terrible yellow curtains we had all hated.
The chipped ceramic bowl where parents left five-dollar bills for lessons.
Rebecca wiped one tear angrily from her cheek.
“He told me the names weren’t about ownership.”
Her voice fractured.
“They were about us.”
Nobody interrupted.
“He said someday you and I were going to make each other furious.”
A weak, painful laugh escaped her.
“He said we were too much alike not to.”
My eyes burned.
“What else?”
Rebecca shook her head.
I stepped closer.
“What else did your father say?”
She looked at Sophie.
That was when I knew the worst part had not come yet.
Rebecca whispered, “He made me promise something.”
Paul’s shoulders stiffened.
“What promise?”
Rebecca’s breathing became shallow.
She looked at me.
“He said if you ever felt like a guest in this house after he was gone…”
Her voice stopped.
I felt Sophie’s fingers tighten around mine.
Rebecca tried again.
