Page 43 of Unraveling Fate

Taran played two notes, an interval of fifths. “Ah, that makes sense. My mother used to sing that one quite often.”

“Mannaggia, I’m sorry,” Cadenza winced. “Maybe I should’ve picked something else?”

Taran moved his fingers up the keyboard to the next fifth. He turned his gaze on her and smiled. “Don’t be sorry, it actually feels good to hear it again. And you sound brilliant.” He played another fifth. “Your voice is like finding moonlight after stumbling through the dark,” he said softly.

Cadenza stared at him, breath shallow. She didn’t know what to say. Plenty of people through the years had told her she had a beautiful voice, but none of their words made her heart beat faster, or her legs go weak. None of those people sent out drumsong tides that threatened to suck the ground away from under her. Another rumble of timpani washed through her as her thigh brushed against his, and she tried to convince herself that applause in Venice could rumble as loudly.

She cleared her throat and pointed at the keyboard with her chin. “You need a third in your interval to make it a chord.”

“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow.

“In most Western classical music, we don’t play perfect fifths moving up the keyboard like that. With just the two notes, it sounds kind of hollow, like there’s an empty space between the notes. We add a third to fill the space, connect the two notes into a real chord, make something that sounds whole and full.” She played an example.

“I see.” Taran laid his other hand on top of hers, pressing the piano keys with her. “Like this?”

Taran’s eyes burned, and his lips hovered just above hers as he spoke. The piano notes shimmered, mixing with the evening breeze fluting in through the open balcony door. Bodhran rippled up her arm from where Taran still held her fingers, but he didn’t move.

Still giving me space,she realized.Letting me choose.

Earthsong, gentle and adagio this time, rose from the murmuring of the oak leaves outside. It caressed her cheek, tangling with the drumsong radiating off Taran.

Cadenza made her choice and lifted her lips to Taran’s.

Eleven

5 Sep 2019

11 Days, $4252. Ask Drostan about selling car.

Taran wasn’t at the track the next day to hear Cadenza sing. He had told her he wouldn’t make it, but she found herself scanning the bleachers for a glimpse of tawny hair anyway, her stomach hollowing when she didn’t find one. The Sunday crowd hollered their appreciation for the national anthem, sloppy and more drunk than usual, but she kept her performance face on.

She chanted her mantra in her head.Temporary, temporary.

Her performance finished, she grabbed her sheet music binder from her apartment and drove up to the sales building. She’d had an idea that morning that she wanted to run past Drostan before heading down to her lesson with Thomas and her second performance at the club.

“Caddie.” Drostan looked up from the front desk as she entered. “Are you off then?”

She nodded. “I had a question for you first though. A favor, really.” She twisted her fingers together, pride warring with her mother’s deadline change. “I’m going to try to sell my car. I might be able to get the rest of what I need from it. But I need it till I leave, or at least I needacar, so I was wondering, if I manage to sell it, would it maybe, possibly, I mean, could I?—”

Drostan interrupted her with a gentle smile. “Caddie, my team will have that thing sold by next week, and you can use any car on my lot until you leave for Italy. And I’m glad you asked. I still wish you’d let me help you more, lass. You know I would.”

She swallowed. “I know. But this is perfect. I want Ilaria to know that I didn’t hold anything back to get there.”

“I understand.” He shook his head. “That woman…”

Cadenza crossed behind the desk and hugged him tightly. “Thank you.”

“Och, well.” He patted her head. “Best get to your lesson.”

“Right.” Eleven days left, but when her sedan sold, she’d have what she needed.

Because Sonora is only temporary.A different thought interrupted.Is Taran only temporary?

Thomas tappedhis chin in thought and watched Cadenza from the piano in his office. “You need to let go, Ms. Cavalieri.”

She shifted uncomfortably. All her previous voice teachers had focused on technique, presentation, showmanship. Picked apart her German pronunciation. Any discussion of emotion had been in the context of performing.

Thomas’s lessons felt more like therapy sessions.