I paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk for a long time, staring at that door. Part of me wanted to turn around. But I needed to know.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The first thing that hit me was a sharp smell.
Polished wood. Old paper. Something familiar but out of place.
For half a second, I couldn’t identify it. Then it hit me.
Sheet music. Wood polish. The smell of a music room.
I turned on the light. And froze.
The first thing that hit me was a sharp smell.
In the center of the room stood an upright piano. Dark wood. Polished. Beautiful.
The walls were lined with shelves, filled with sheet music, recordings, and books about music theory.
On the piano bench sat more sheet music, neatly stacked.
I walked closer and picked up one of the pieces.
“Clair de Lune” by Debussy. My favorite.
I’d told Robert that once, decades ago. When we were young and I still played.
I walked closer and picked up one of the pieces.
On the music stand was another piece. “Moonlight Sonata.”
Another favorite.
I looked around the room more carefully. On a small table in the corner were labeled recordings. Dated.
I picked one up. The label read: “For Daisy – December 2018.”
Another: “For Daisy – March 2020.”
Dozens of them, going back years.
