Page 101

“No, you can go all the way back to Lucia’s place. I’m . . . going to be a bit.”

Despite her internal protests, Opaline didn’t argue with Cora. She gave Cora an understanding nod and departed after giving her sister’s hand a single squeeze.

Cora stayed in the room for several minutes longer, finding several trinkets left untouched. Her beaded bracelet, she discovered, fit her perfectly still. She was so lost in her thoughts, so lost in memories, that it took her a long time to hear the music. It was suspended in the air around her, and its origin was impossible to ascertain. At first, Cora assumed it was being played from her old record player in the bathroom, but soon she noticed that the keystrokes vibrated in the air in the way that only a live piano could produce.

“I see,” she whispered with a smile. “So this isn’t the room you died in.”

Her limbs feeling heavier than ever, Cora retrieved the box and hugged it tightly to herself. She considered going back, saving herself from more tears, and never coming back to this painful place. It was gorgeous outside, beautiful and bright and simple. But the idea vanished the second she recognized the song:Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini, Opus 43, Variation 18.

Zeno’s room was unchanged. More than the rest of the house, it was exactly as she remembered it. The scent of his cologne, woody and musty, still lingered as if he had sprayed it that morning. The scarce light of an already lit candle played across the furniture in the dramatic lighting she had painted so many times, shining through a wineglass that still bore the imprint of his lips. The song Leonore sang for her departed mate had long faded away, leaving Cora in a peaceful silence as she ducked into the innermost sanctum. The curtain ran across the nape of her neck as she entered like a gentle caress.

Cora moved aside sheet music and set the box on his desk, opening it carefully. One by one, she retrieved its contents and placed them on top of his piano.

Dried rose petals, a page of sheet music from Liebestraum No. 3, an old copy of theAeneid, and a single dove feather.

“I told you the truth, Zeno. I told you the truth when I said I’d always be yours. Forever, not just for a taste.”