Page 72 of Heir to a Curse

For a few seconds I felt sucker punched again. Lonely. Heartbroken.

As I was passing Mr. Yamamoto’s office after getting some lunch, he called my name and I backtracked to pop into the room. He’d been packing up boxes of books so we could move the bookcases and paint.

“Whatcha need?” I asked him.

He pointed to a large box, long and narrow, sitting beside his desk. “That came for our guest. Would you be willing to drop it off at his door? I’ve already sent him a message that I would be sending it up, but haven’t caught one of the girls yet.”

“Sure,” I stepped into the room and picked up the box. There was a color wheel on the desk. “Picked the paint color yet?”

“I am still debating.”

“Well if you narrow it to a few I’ll send Addy a text to pick up samples. Sometimes it’s easier to see the room with it when you have the actual light of the room on it.”

Mr. Yamamoto nodded. “I will do that, thank you.”

I took the box and headed upstairs. Our quarantine guest was at the end of the hall, away from all the other rooms, but his room had a great view of the garden maze and even back to the shrine. I hoped he had enough to do during quarantine. The rooms didn’t have TVs in them, though I’d gotten the Wi-Fi updated. He’d been here a little over a week, maybe a week and a half now. So silent, if we weren’t giving him daily meals, no one would have realized he was there. I set the box beside the door and knocked lightly.

“Sir, your box is out here. Once you unpack it, leave the box outside and we will take care of it for you,” I said, hoping he heard me, and that I wasn’t waking him or anything. Since lunch was over and the empty tray sat outside the door, I assumed he was awake.

He didn’t respond, so I made my way back downstairs. I actually planned to start on the ballroom. While the huge wall of windows facing the back of the house was breathtaking, the giant brown paisley squiggles on the wall reminded me of baby poop. Why had Sofia liked paisley so much? Had that been a decorating trend all those years ago? Or really some sort of pattern she liked? The wainscoting I’d save, paint a crisp white, perhaps even add some decorative molding, but first to remove the wallpaper.

Montana appeared and began opening the widows. “It’s a beautiful day,” he told me. “Fresh air, not too hot. I love it here.”

I smiled at the wall as I ripped the old stuff off in sheets. “Glad someone does.”

“You aren’t happy here?” He asked, sounding concerned.

“As happy as I can be,” I told him. Which was true enough. Had I ever been happy? More neutral. Not happy, but not unhappy. Existing, I realized. Sad how many of us went through life that way without realizing it. Not until something big changed our course.

Montana continued opening the windows, and once they were all letting the breeze through, he threw his hands out wide, did a little twirl and sang, “The hills are alive…”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “Okay, Maria. Don’t you have dinner to prep?”

“Yeah. I’m going, I’m going.” He headed off to the kitchen with me still chuckling. I went back to the paper. Sitting on a four-foot-high rigging, ripping the paper down and slowly sliding over, it was odd that I suddenly felt sleepy.

Then I realized I was hearing the soft sound of aguzheng. Not a recorded version either. But the gentle reverberation of strings like I was there again, sitting beside Xiang as he played. I jolted upright, listening intently for the sound. It floated in through the windows and from above.

I blinked. The room above? Was there some sort of lesson, a class I hadn’t known was scheduled yet? But why would that be upstairs? In fact, the only occupied room on this end of the house, was the one with our quarantine guest.

My heart hammered in my chest, flipflopping a little dance as I recognized the tune. Not only the notes, but the tune, which I’d been unable to find in any recordings anywhere so far. I jumped off the rigging and raced out of the ballroom and to the stairs. The house was still as usual, the only flurry being in the kitchen and likely downstairs in the laundry area, but I was intent on the music, following it like the rats followed the pied piper.

At the end of the hall, outside the door, the empty box sat tilted beside it. I hesitated, not wanting to stop the music, not wanting my hope to be bashed, and worried I’d fall into a puddle of black depression if someone else opened the door. I grabbed the box, searching out the name it was addressed to. But the name was unfamiliar.

I sucked in air, world spinning, but unable to turn away. After a minute I finally gathered the courage and knocked.

The music stopped, and for a minute, absolute silence followed, that heart shattering void of sound that almost made my ears pop. Then I heard someone at the door, the knob turning.

I gasped. Couldn’t help it. I fell to my knees, the world spinning around me in such a dizzying whirl I thought I’d pass out for a moment. “Xiang?” I whispered, unable to believe my eyes, or breath, right that minute. I reached for him.

“It’s not safe,” he whispered, taking a step back. “Not yet.”

For a second I didn’t understand. If I touched him would he disappear? Be pulled back into the exile he’d been tortured with for so long? “I…”

“There’s a sickness,” he said, keeping the door between us as a barrier, but clinging to the edge of it as if he were trying to keep from reaching out as well.

Then I remembered the pandemic. “Fuck.” Was it safe for him to be around me? My mind raced with the idea of who I’d come into contact with recently. Anyone who could have infected me? I hadn’t left the house in weeks. And kept my distance from everyone other than Addy who had insisted, while we had minimal contact, that she could hug me on occasion.

“What if I’m sick?” I said out loud. Asymptomatic? That was a thing I could recall reading about. Xiang would be more likely to get sick since he didn’t have a couple hundred years of built up immunity or vaccines.