Dominic said it without looking at us as he settled into a chair at the kitchen table.
“He organized it. Katrina had scattered musicians from Baton Rouge to Houston to Atlanta. Some hadn’t come back yet. Some didn’t know if they would. Henri tracked each one down individually. Called them. Asked them to come to Jackson Square on the anniversary. He spent weeks on those calls.”
Luca sat with his elbows on the table and his hands loosely clasped. I leaned against the counter behind him.
“The gathering wasn’t spontaneous. That’s what the video made it look like. The cameras arrived after the music had already been going for several minutes.”
I watched as Dominic placed a hand on the table. “And when it moved toward the final chorus—“
“I was there. Someone needed to shape the performance as others joined. I knew how to do that, and I did it.” He paused. “The camera focused on me doing it.”
“And Henri?”
“Henri was behind the musicians.” Dominic looked down at his folded hands. “He stayed there.”
A kettle whistled on the stove. Luca pulled it before it reached full pitch and poured three mugs of tea. He set one in front of Dominic and one near my end of the counter.
“What happened between you afterward?” I asked.
Dominic considered the question. “For some years he attended the anniversary events. We saw each other frequently.” He turned the mug slightly. “Then he stopped coming. I didn’t notice after a while, which is its own kind of failing.” He looked at me. “Only recently has he started appearing again.”
I picked up my mug and sipped.
Luca was working through something. His brow furrowed briefly.
“He told me tonight instead of you,” he said to Dominic. “At the reception.”
“Yes.”
Luca set his mug down. “He’s not being subtle. He wants us to understand exactly what he’s doing and why.”
“He’s a man who wants a witness,” I said.
Dominic looked at me, holding his gaze for a moment, then picked up his mug and drank.
“I should have said something twenty years ago,” he said. “Not to the press. To him.” He set the mug down with a small, decisive click. “I didn’t, and now I owe him a debt that I might have to pay on his or someone else’s terms.”
He pushed back from the table, stood up, and picked up his hat.
“Goodnight,” he said. “The two of you figure it out.”
He went upstairs.
Luca and I remained in the kitchen while Dominic’s footsteps moved overhead and settled. I set my mug down and rested a hand on his shoulder.
He glanced back at me and reached up to cover my hand with his. Then he pushed back from the table and stood. He moved close enough for me to see a faint crease between his eyebrows. He was thinking.
I didn’t move and didn’t speak. He reached for me.
The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was purposeful. He pressed his lips against mine, seeking entry with his tongue.
Luca’s right hand settled against my ribs.
His body was solid. Lean, not heavy. I reached for the back of his neck, and he moved forward, the length of his body pressing into mine.
I parted my lips, and his tongue slipped into my mouth. He reached up and raked his fingers through my hair.
When we finally pulled back, neither of us stepped away immediately.
