Chapter 7 - The Song His Mother Left Behind
The melody was imperfect.
Lily missed notes.
Her timing wandered.
But Ethan knew the song.
His mother had called it “Morning Light.”
She played it whenever thunderstorms frightened him.
The piece had never been recorded professionally.
It existed only in old family sheet music locked inside the piano cabinet.
Ethan approached slowly.
“Where did you learn that?”
Lily kept playing.
“From the paper.”
“What paper?”
She pointed beneath the music stand.
Ethan opened the narrow cabinet.
Inside were several yellowing sheets.
He stared.
He had not opened the compartment since his mother’s funeral.
Lily had apparently discovered the music herself.
“You can read this?”
She shook her head.
“I copy.”
She pressed a key.
Then looked at the corresponding note.
Ethan glanced at Rosa.
“She’s three.”
“I know how old she is.”
Rosa smiled.
“She remembers sounds.”
Ethan sat beside Lily.
His mother had once told him that music revealed what people tried to hide.
At eleven, he thought she was being poetic.
At thirty-five, he finally understood.
Lily touched another key.
“Do you know it?”
Ethan nodded.
“A little.”
“Play.”
“I haven’t played in twenty years.”
Lily stared at him with the brutal confidence only children possessed.
“Try.”
Rosa leaned against the doorway.
Ethan placed his hands on the keys.
The first chord sounded wrong.
Lily giggled.
“You did bad.”
“Thank you for the encouragement.”
He tried again.
This time the notes landed correctly.
Lily joined him.
For several minutes, the house stopped feeling cold.
Then Harold appeared.
“Mr. Caldwell.”
Ethan looked over.
“There’s someone at the gate.”
“Reporter?”
“No.”
Harold hesitated.
“Charles Weller.”
Ethan’s hands froze over the keys.
Rosa immediately stood straight.
“What?”
Harold continued.
“He says he needs to speak with you about your father.”
Ethan rose.
“Do not let him leave.”
Rosa followed.
“Ethan.”
He turned.
“Be careful.”
“I’m going to ask questions.”
“You’re angry.”
“I have every reason to be.”
“That’s why I’m telling you.”
He looked toward Lily.
She was still touching the piano keys.
His anger cooled enough for reason to return.
“You’re right.”
Rosa nodded.
Ethan looked at Harold.
“Put Weller in the library.”
Ten minutes later, Charles Weller sat beneath a portrait of Ethan’s father.
He looked older than Ethan remembered.
Smaller.
Less powerful.
Ethan placed the unsigned confidentiality agreement on the desk.
Weller stared at it.
“Where did you get that?”
“That’s your first mistake.”
Weller looked up.
“What?”
“You’re asking questions.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“I’m asking them.”
Weller swallowed.
Ethan tapped the handwritten note.
“My father wrote this.”
Silence.
“You approached Rosa after Lily was born.”
Weller said nothing.
“You told her I rejected my daughter.”
Still nothing.
Ethan’s voice lowered.
“Did my father intercept Rosa’s letters?”
Weller looked toward the closed door.
Then he whispered,
“Your father believed he was protecting you.”
Ethan felt something inside him turn cold.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Weller slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
Ethan stared at him.
“All six?”
May you like
Weller answered.
“All six.”
