"That you won't obey me, that you'll make some foolish and reckless and brave plan and block me from knowing it, that you'll get yourself into trouble, and that you'll get killed," he says with an exaggerated shrug, his voice emotional. "That's all. Nothingreally."
"I'm not going to plot and plan. I don't know enough, Michel, to plot andplan."
"Ah, but it's precisely those who don't know how to plot and plan who try it and get intotrouble."
"I promise I'll follow your rules to the best of my ability." I pull him down and kiss him and my kiss makes us both all squishy feelinginside.
"Get dressed," he says. "I'll show you thehouse."
I do, putting on my clothes once more, and Michel takes my hand, leading me through the house to show me every room, stopping first in the library where we gave him the news aboutJulien.
"That's such a beautiful old Steinway," I say and go to it, touching the keys. "I never asked you but do youplay?"
"Yes."
"Play something for me." I take his hand and lead himthere.
"You haven't played for me yet, and I asked first," he says, pointing a finger atme.
I smile and sit on the bench. "Any request?" While I play a scale, he sits besideme.
"Play the piece that breaks yourheart."
I hesitate at the strange request. The piece that breaks myheart?
"That would have to be Ballade No.1 by Chopin," I say. "I don't play it perfectly. I was learning it when my mother died. It brings back painfulmemories."
"Playit."
I play the first section, the moderato, well enough, and beside me, Michelsighs.
"Lovely" he says and when I look at him, his eyes are closed and a soft smile is on his lips. "Why does it break your heart? Is it just because of herdeath?"
"No," I say. "It's just so beautiful and so powerful and so haunting. My psychiatrist made me try to finish learning it as therapy, and it was just so lovely and passionate that I think learning it did heal me but I haven't mastered theend."
I play the middle section, which is the most beautiful and then back to the main theme again but when I get to the coda, I can't continue. It's far too hard without much more practice. I rest my hands on mylap.
"That's as far as I canget."
"You should continue practicing until you master it," Michelsays.
"I've been so busy with school, I've let other thingsslide."
"School is a means to an end," he says. "Music is an end initself."
Hearing it, playing it, has made my heart ache, but it's a good ache. One that reminds me that I loved my mother and she lovedme.
"Your turn," I say and move over a bit so he can play. "Play the piece that breaks yourheart."
"Very well." He takes in a deep breath and starts, and I don't recognizeit.
"Also Chopin," he says. "We have similartastes."
"What is it?" I say, feeling the emotion in the piece tug at myheart.
"Nocturne in E Minor. His first, written when he was justseventeen."
"It's so beautiful and sosad."