Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter twelve

It feels like more than an hour since I left Lou's house but that's really all it has been and half of that was spent driving around, clueless as to the fact that the place I was driving to no longer exists. It feels more like an entire day since I was here, going off of how drained I feel as I follow Lou inside. She drops her keys in the bowl in the kitchen and gets a couple of glasses from the cabinet, filling one all the way to the brim with cold water and handing it to me.

"You had a long night and a lot to drink, you're sleep deprived, and you've had a weird morning. Drink this and relax. I've got a lesson in"—she checks her watch—"thirty minutes, so don't be alarmed if you see a little blonde kid. It's just Mitchell. Not a ghost."

"Noted." I glug half the water in one go. "This is a ghost free zone."

"Also, don't be alarmed if you hear what sounds like a piano falling down the stairs." Lou fills her own glass and sips it delicately, tucking a loose hair behind her ear and fiddling with her earring. "He's a relatively new student and I'm considering the strong possibility that he's tone deaf."

"I'll keep out of your hair." I finish the water with a gasp and wonder if all the coffee is dehydrating me. "Do you mind if I take a bath?"

"Charlotte, you don't need to ask permission. Make yourself at home, for as long as you're here."

Ten minutes later, I hold my breath and sink beneath the bubbly surface with my eyes closed. I can't remember the last time I had a bath instead of a shower and it is luxurious. The relaxation sinks all the way down to the marrow, the hot water cradling my body like a cocoon, and this morning's panic attack feels like it happened in another lifetime. Lou's right, of course everything will be okay. Better than okay, even. The only thing that has changed is that I've been upgraded from a dated hotel room to a private house share in my favorite part of town and I've saved, like, five hundred bucks. So it's a win-win, right?

Even underwater, I hear when Lou's student gets his hands on the piano. The clashing crash reverberates through the entire house and I swear the floor shakes and dear god, how does she put up with this day in day out? It goes on forever. I don't dare get out of the bath until it's been quiet for at least five minutes, another five minutes before I creep downstairs in fresh sweats to find Lou, alone, head in her hands.

"He's a lost cause, I swear to god," she says when I sit next to her on the piano stool and make an effort not to stare so hard.

"I thought you could teach anyone."

She laughs. "So did I."

I put my thumb on middle C. Press down gently until the hammer hits the string and the note rings out. "Teach me."

It's Lou's turn to stare. I feel her gaze burning into me and she doesn't look away when I look up.

"Okay. If you mean it."

"I do, if you do. When's your next lesson?"

She shakes her wrist to twist her watch. "Not for another hour."

I flex my fingers. "Perfect."

*

My hands have good breadth apparently. Something I didn't know was so important but is apparently vital. The distance between the end of my thumb and the tip of my pinkie finger when I splay my hands is, according to Lou, perfection. I have promise.

I don't know if we're on the same page though. I'm not sure she realizes I'm more interested in her hands than mine, that I hit the wrong key a few too many times just to feel her touch when she corrected me, her hand imposed over mine like a corset training me into the right position.