Chapter Nine : His Piano

Bloody hell.

"You annoying goggles," I mutter. 

I lost my them again. What is wrong with them? Because of the 'Lynn' thing, I couldn't take the swimming lesson. I was confused and lost, so directly came home. And I'm guessing I can't make the afternoon lesson, too. I'm not used to swim without goggles, when I'm with many students. And another reason, despite I've been swimming for many years, I don't see well in water. 

Now, what? Did I really put them in bag when Jake gave? Honestly, I can't remember. 

Wait, maybe I have another pair. 

I walk hurriedly to the storeroom and start to search. I first reach to the shelf where I put my old sports items, but I've bumped into something. 

I swallow, gazing at the curtain. 

I take a deep breath and put the curtain away. 

Dad's piano. 

June 2016

"Samlin, time for your piano lesson!" My father knocked at my door.

I put my phone on the table and sighed. I didn't want to play that day. Because Michael was having a party in his house that night and I wanted to go there. 

I opened the door and faced him.

He was a journalist in profession, but in mind, he was a pianist. My father was the youngest son of the Greenham family, which is one of the most ancient family of the local community. His parents, I mean my Grandparents are still strict and moody, but I've always had a good relationship with them. They live in the manor, inherited from our ancestors, though I never knew why my father didn't live with them. 

Thanks God that my father didn't inherit the 'I'm-rich-and-powerful' attitude from them. He was that kind of father, with whom you could share everything. He was worth of so much respect. He was mid forty, yet looked younger. 

But at that night, I was kinda mad at him.

"Can we not play tonight?" I asked him.

"Why? Are you not feeling well?" He searched my face worriedly. "I thought we would practice a different, softer pitch tonight. And give more attention to the accidentals."

"Dad__I can't."

"Are you going out?"

"Michael is having a party tonight. I told him I would go." I said, a little frightened, because I knew Dad had a thing against the parties. 

He released a long breath, slanting at the doorframe. "So, you really like him, huh?"

I thought for a while. "I guess, I do."

"You play piano well. You even achieved awards in some competitions. Now, you're evading your lesson for this kid? Going to a party in his place?"

I frowned, "He's my boyfriend, Dad. And I'm only skipping one piano lesson. Why are you making a big deal out of this?"

My father sat on a chair, holding his arms across the chest. "Fine. Since we're so honest with each other, what if I tell that I saw him with a girl today inside an alley? Are you still going to him?"

I blinked, not understanding. "It could be his sister. Or any of his female friends."

"If you say he was kissing her any of his female friends, then fine again," he turned to his piano. 

I was really shocked then. I was feeling stupid. Dumb. Angry. Clueless. "Why are telling me this now?" I shouted. 

He didn't turn. "To prove you wrong. That kid is playing with you. You should stop wasting time with him and focus on your study."

"And focus on playing your stupid piano? Aren't you telling this?" I pointed at his boudoir grand piano, glaring. "Aren't you, Dad?"

He turned to me, so shocked. That piano meant so much to him, but I hurt him. 

"You hate piano?" he whispered. 

I couldn't stop the angry part of myself. 

"Well....you didn't give me much choice," I said these words before slamming my door. 

After a minute, I heard him stop in front of my door. He said quietly,

"You can go wherever you want, Samlin."

I covered my face with a pillow, crying, regretting. Oh God, what had I done?

I opened my door silently after an hour. It looked like Mom still hadn't come home, maybe she had a night shift in the bank. The entire house was dark, all lights were off.

Was Dad asleep?

I didn't think so.

I quietly passed the drawing room and entered the balcony. I took a deep breath. He was there, sitting on his easy chair. I slowly took a seat beside him. 

"Good night," he gave a small smile.

I swallowed. "I am sorry, Dad."

I didn't look at him, I focused my eyes on the floor. I'd never had yelled at me before. I was feeling so sad. So small.

"I didn't mean what I said." I whispered the common sentence when almost everyone says that, when they are sorry. I bit my lip hard to not to cry, remorseful. 

"Come here."

I slowly put my head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent deeply. This was my father. Who always forgave me when I did something improper. He brushed my hair gently. 

"It's okay. You're just hurt." He said after a minute. 

I moved my head from his shoulder, looking at his face. "You're not mad at me, then?"

My father laughed. "How can I be mad at my little daughter? Who wanted to be a butterfly?"

I giggled. 

We sat there in the dark calmly, feeling the autumn breeze, hearing the sounds of night. Then my father spoke,

"But one day you'll understand the pain, when I am not around you anymore."

"Don't say these things, please."

"Okay. Anyway, I am going to Belèm tomorrow. Maybe I won't be able to back for a while."

"In Brazil? Near of A****n, right?" I asked.

"Hm. Belèm isn't a famous city, though our chief editor gave me a serious assignment."

"What is it now? Gold smuggling? Nature protesters? Illegal chemical garbage?"

"It's a kind of secret task. I can't tell you. Like you secretly hate Maria, but pretend you don't," he laughed. 

I blushed a little. "That's so not true. I don't hate her. Hey, Dad, don't change the subject. Where are you gonna stay, by the way?"

"At Forte do Castalo. It's an old fortress in that town. Don't worry, I'll be back soon."

But you didn't come back, Dad.

I brush my fingers on the keys of the piano and start to play. My fingers are moving spontaneously through the keyboard, the sound becoming louder. 

Faster.

Fingers move more quickly. 

Why didn't I realize the beauty of this harmony before? Where was it hidden? Why didn't I feel the waves in my heart before?

I suddenly stop.

I rush to the leaving room, standing in front of our family photo. I place my fingers at the image of my father. 

Then I whisper,

"I am sorry, Dad. Can you please come back?"

• • • • • 

Lynn Vandestine 

He gets ready, wearing his wristwatch. He looks at his revolver, feeling a little confused, whether to take it with him or not. 

He's going to meet an old friend. 

He decides, placing the gun behind of his hip, at the waistband. He grabs his car keys and starts to walk in a quick pace.

But he stops.

Lynn knocks at his brother's door, hearing carefully. Is he with someone? Woman?

"Come in," his cheerful voice speaks.

Lynn rolls the doorknob and steps in.

His room is a little dark, he's lying on the bed, two blondies hovering over his body, both moaning madly. 

Oh, Jesus. 

"Good evening, brother." Mahone greets him, his hands caressing their shoulders.

"This isn't a brothel, Mahone," he groans, looking away. "Do it outside."

"C'mon it's just one night. Uncle Kramer has no problem with it, so why do you?" He kisses the first blonde. "Don't mind, baby. My brother's a bit shy."

First blonde winks at Lynn. "He's hot."

"You want him?" Mahone pouts.

"Not more than you," she nibbles his ear.

Lynn sighs. "Fine, I'm out of here."

"Where are you going?" Mahone asks, second blonde kissing his chest, panting.

"None of your business." Lynn turns around. 

"Okay, I'm enjoying myself."