The Sun and The Moon

Chapter Four

When we got back to my house that afternoon, I took the books from Paul, piling them on top of the grande piano. That old piano was one of the few nice things my father still owned.

"Stay for supper?" I asked, turning back to Paul.

"No, I should get going... I'll call you later," he said. I nodded, listening to the door click behind him. I kicked my shoes toward the door, sitting down on the piano bench and running my fingers down the keys. They were dusty, but the sound still wrang true.

"Don't you play anymore, Dad?" I asked and whiped my hand on my jeans.

"Not much lately, no." I danced my right hand through a few chords. "Play me something, princess." I closed my eyes, remembering the first times I had ever made music. As a girl, this house had been filled with music, before my mother's illness and eventual death. I remembered what a gift it had felt like the first time my dad played after her death, but then, he had played such a sad song, I cried uncontrollabley and inconsolabley for well over an hour.

I sang softly as I played You Belong To Me, replacing the word Darlin' with Daddy. It was a short song, slow and sleepy, easy to play. It had been nearly three years since I'd last played and by the end of the song, I couldn't feel any of that time. I took a deep breath, flexed my fingers, and started a new song-- A Song For You. By the time that song was over, I was trapped. Music was like heroin, one hit wasn't enough. I played for hours, until the sun dissappeared from the window, sinking behind the trees. I continued until it was so dark I couldn't see my hands, or the keys. When my stomach growled, interupting me, I realized how long it had been. I stopped, my back stiff, but my heart racing. I felt a hollowness as the last notes faded in the air.

"You've deprived yourself," my father said. My cheeks flushed.

"No," I argued.

"Yes... When is the last time you played?"

"I don't know. The last time you heard me, probably," I said.

"That was before you and Paul split!"

"I guess so," I said and sighed.

"Princess, you know better than that. Music is to the soul like water to the body-- essential!"

"When is the last time you played? This thing is covered in dust," I retorted. I got up, turning on some lights and draping a blanket over my father's legs.

"That's different," he said.

"How?" I demanded.

"It always makes me think of your mother." I noticed then the tears glistening in his eyes and the near dried traks on his cheeks.

"Aw, daddy," I gasped, falling to my knees beside him.

"I used to think you sung just like her. Now I think you sing like yourself." He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Mama always said I sing like you... I like to think it's true," I whispered. He kissed my forehead and leaned back, closing his eyes. Deciding to leave him alone with his memories, I stood and wandered into the kitchen. I made supper and we ate in silence. I knew we were both thinking about my mom. I poured us each a large glass of red wine.

"Red wine is perfect for reminiscing," I said, handing him his. He cheersed me and we returned to silence.

As I gave my dad a second helping, there was a knock at the door. I swung it open, and a fresh brease stirred the room.

"Ella, am I enterupting?" Geoff asked, looking around me to the dining room.

"No, we were just finishing," I said. "Come in." He complied, shaking the snow from his hair.