“Does he play any other instruments?”
Questions, questions, questions that I cannot possibly answer. Fortunately, George and Millie emerge from the church at last, baby in their arms, and everyone rushes over to coo at little Oliver.
I turn the other way and walk a few steps to find a secluded spot around the corner where hopefully no one will find me. Closing my eyes, I let myself relive Brandon’s performance, the music, the peace, the look on his face, eyes closed, long smooth fingers on the keys...and that sound, that exquisite sound.
A hesitant step behind me makes me turn. There’s a woman dressed in a combination of a knee-long dress and leggings with a green overcoat, green scarf, and green ribbons in her hair. The effect is strange because it makes her seem girly, when in fact, she’s clearly middle-aged. Then I notice her face, she has Down syndrome.
She takes a step, then stops, and looks around like a deer poised to flee.
I smile to show her that she can approach me if she wants. It stops her from running away, but she doesn’t come any closer.
“I’m Lessa,” I say to reassure her.
After a moment, she nods; I guess she already knew that.
Something about her moves my heart. Maybe it’s how hard she’s trying to conquer her fear to talk to me. It reminds me of my own time at school, not daring to join others in their game.
To encourage her, I find a low stone wall nearby and perch on the edge. “It was very crowded in front of the church. Here is much nicer. Quiet.” I keep voice gentle and my eyes on the grass because something tells me she finds eye contact difficult. “I also wanted to sit here and remember the music.” I finally look up at her.
There’s a tentative smile.
“Didyoulike the music?”
She glances from side to side, a little nervously, then nods a very clear yes.
“It’s beautiful.” I try again.
She brings her hands to the middle of her chest, holding them together pressed over her heart.
She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I wait, giving her time to find her confidence.
Her mouth works; she draws in a big breath.
“Lessa? You here?” Brandon rounds the corner. The woman instantly bolts in the other direction.
“I was looking for you.” He sweeps dry leaves from the wall and sits beside me.
The woman in green has disappeared. I want to go after her, but the fluttery feeling in my tummy returns.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon’s eyes narrow.
Chapter Twenty-five
Lessa
We don’t stay for the Christening feast. Too many people. Brandon is worried I might be delicate and wants to take me home. Cook, who presided over the long trestle tables of food, insists on giving us a basket to take with us. “You need to look after your strength.” She piles in enough food to keep me strong for a month.
We settle on the sofa at home, a blanket over my legs because Brandon, like Cook, is obsessed with keeping me comfortable.
“Why do you do that thing with your mouth?” I ask Brandon, passing him a second cupcake and biting into one myself.
It’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask since the church. “Before you started playing, you sucked on the tip of your oboe.”
His lips twitch; he tries to keep a straight face but can’t.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I don’t know the right terminology.” I pretend to be annoyed because I’m trying not to laugh now.
