Nightingale Songs by Simon Strantzas Read Free Book Online Page B

They're nice, I suppose, but hardly anything to get excited about. They look wrong to me. Out of shape. This one here --" She pointed a crooked finger at a painting of her and her father; the two of them looked beautiful side by side. "This is me ? It looks nothing like me. No, I can't say I'm much for painting. Music, though, the way he played the piano, it used to set my heart free. I used to sit beside him as he played, right there on the bench where you are now, and listen. I could have stayed there for hours." She joined Claire on the piano bench, letting out a small huff when she finally shifted her weight off her limping foot. That close, Claire could feel the old woman's body emanating frailty, as though a wrong move or misspoken word might damage her. She smelled of naphthalene. "Our father always told us it was important to appreciate the arts. He always -- well, let's agree fathers are always right." She carefully lifted the lid of the piano, uncovering the ivory keys, darkened from a lifetime's worth of dirty hands. "He would tell me that if I loved music so much, I ought to do what Doreen had done with her paints. He imagined us a family of artists, and wanted little more than to teach me what he knew." She smiled and put her thin finger on a key. She pressed down, and the piano emitted a flat note that carried through the room. "But I never managed to learn more than a few chords no matter how hard I tried." She dropped the cover over the keys and the small slam echoed in the quiet. Eloise struggled to get her cane beneath her as she stood.
    "Were you able to get hold of anybody?" she asked once she caught her breath. "Doreen says your car is ruined."
    "I tried," Claire croaked, her throat dry. She coughed to clear it. "My phone is dead, though. I suppose I'll need to use yours again tomorrow."
    Eloise sighed, and Claire realized her welcome had already been stretched to the limit. "I suggest you get some sleep then. Doreen has already arranged for a tow-truck to meet you in the morning."
    "That's very kind of her."
    Eloise may have laughed. Claire couldn't be sure.
    "It was, wasn't it?"
    She turned out the light and slowly limped out of the room, leaving Claire at the piano bench alone in the dark.
    The morning sun woke Claire the next day, gradually filling her bedroom with light she could not hide from. When she descended the stairs, she heard Doreen's titter before seeing her humming along the hallway.
    "Up so early?" she asked through her smile. "Come on, I'll make you breakfast."
    "I should probably call my father."
    "There'll be time for that after you eat. Why disturb his sleep if you don't have to?"
    Doreen flitted around the kitchen as she cooked eggs and sausage and pancakes, all the while apologizing for her sister. "Eloise can be a handful sometimes, but I have to watch out for her, especially considering her state. Ever since the accident she's been moody. I guess it's hard to watch the person you love most in the world die while you're trapped helplessly beside him. Still, it's no excuse for refusing to see someone off! I suspect she's embarrassed by her behavior last night. What foolishness!"
    Claire smiled and pretended she understood.
    "What happened? If you don't mind my asking."
    Doreen glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
    "The accident."
    "Oh," she said, returning to the stove. Claire worried her question had been impolite. "You know how these things are. One minute you're driving, the next you wake up in the hospital. The police said it was a hit and run but Eloise doesn't remember a thing. That's probably for the best, I'd imagine. Sometimes I think it would be better for her if she painted. It's amazing how therapeutic it is."
    "I still can’t believe you've managed to paint so many."
    "Well, only most of them. Father did a few."
    "Regardless, they're really quite well done."
    Doreen tittered and looked up at the wall. There, a farm landscape, a small car on the road in the foreground,