Rhapsody (54 page)

She set the crystal snifters down on the
coffee table, then eased down onto the couch next to Misha's prone
body. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

"Nothing," Misha said. Then after a moment,
he said: "And everything."

Vera tenderly stroked his raven hair, then
leaned over and brushed his lips with hers. She sat back up and
reached over for their drinks. "It's been quite a day," she said.
She handed Misha his drink, and they both sipped quietly.

"It's a shame you couldn't play for the
memorial service," Vera said. "It was a wonderful occasion, but
your playing would have made it so complete, so perfect,
somehow."

Misha looked thoughtful for a moment, staring
down at his hand. While the injury had not caused any permanent
damage, he'd had two broken bones and considerable tissue damage.
It would be weeks before it returned to normal.

He looked up at Vera. "I just don't want to
play in front of anybody yet," he said. "I'm just not ready. Can
you understand that?"

Vera nodded. "Yes," she said, "but it
would've been nice." She looked at him. "Don't you think it's time
you started trying to play, Misha?"

He was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes," he finally admitted. "I guess I've just been ...afraid."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Vera said,
for she knew that he had lost confidence in himself. "You can start
off little by little, taking baby steps, and gradually build up
your strength ...and your courage." She looked at him. "Just a
little bit at a time."

Misha smiled. "You're not going to let me get
lazy, are you?"

"Nor will I allow you to indulge your fears,"
Vera said. She took a sip of her brandy and set the glass down on
the table. "Why don't you try something now?" she said.

"Now?" Misha said, his eyes widening. "But
...but Vera, I ...I—"

"But nothing," she said. She looked at him
with a mischievous smile. "Your fingers can move quite nicely, I've
noticed."

Misha grinned. "Do you think ...?"

"I know," Vera said. "Come on. Get up. Let's
go to the piano." She stood and extended a hand to him.

Misha set his drink down and took her hand.
He rose slowly to his feet, and together they walked over to the
big Steinway grand. He sat down on the stool, adjusting it
slightly, and looked at the piano, then up at Vera.

"Where do I begin?" he asked.

She stood at his side, one hand on his
shoulder. "Play something for Serena," she said. "A quiet good-bye,
Misha."

He looked down at the keyboard, his shoulders
slumped. "I don't know, Vera," he mumbled. "I just don't know
..."

"A nocturne," she said. "Play a nocturne for
Serena."

"Serena hated nocturnes," Misha said. "They
made her sad."

"It's appropriate," Vera said. "A simple
nocturne. She would understand, I'm sure. It's a good way for you
to start again. To work your hands."

Misha looked at her doubtfully, then looked
back down at the keys again. He sat for a moment, silent, then
slowly positioned his hands over the keys. Hesitantly at first,
then with more confidence, he began to play.

Chopin filled the vast living room with its
sweet sadness, its melancholy strains a fitting good-bye, a
reminder of what once was but could be no more. As he played, tears
began to fill Misha's eyes. Tears for Serena, tears for himself,
for Vera and Nicky and their families.

When he finished, he sat for a moment in the
flickering light of the fire, then got to his feet and put his arms
around Vera, his head resting on her shoulder, and she cradled him
there, stroking his raven hair silently, feeling his grief, his
pain, sharing with him this sad goodbye, yet revising to give up
hope for tomorrow, for their family, for their love, and for the
joy of life itself.

I hope you enjoyed this book and don't forget
to visit
http://www.judithgould.com/