Too many questions and not enough answers.
Claire stood and paced the length of the room, which wasn’t very satisfying. After a couple of seconds, she went out the door and down the stairs. Ignoring Nicole, who was still in the kitchen, she took the second flight to the basement and closed the door behind her.
The studio was as it had always been, with the piano in the center of the room. She’d had it tuned, maybe because she’d known it would come to this.
The need to play swelled up inside of her. She’d managed to ignore the urge for a while, but playing for Amy had changed things. It was as if a wall had broken down and let everything spill out.
Life was messy, she thought, but music was calm and sure and beautiful.
She sat in front of the piano and lightly touched the keys. The sound was good. It would take a few more tunings to get it right, but she wasn’t in a place where she could be picky.
She closed her eyes and let the need grow inside of her. She didn’t have to ask what she wanted to play. That would come to her. She put her fingers on the keys and began.
WYATT KNOCKED on Nicole’s back door and let himself in. He’d braced himself to deal with Claire, but instead found Nicole standing at the counter.
“Look at you,” he said. “You made it downstairs by yourself.”
“I know. I’m practically ready to run a marathon. How are you?”
“Good. I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead dumping the contents of what looked like her dinner into the sink. She put on the garbage disposal and ran water until the drain was clear.
“Not hungry?” he asked.
“I was. I just…” She sighed. “Claire and I had a fight. Nothing like family discord to blow my appetite. The last two years Jesse was in high school, I lost ten pounds using the little-known ‘I’m too sick to my stomach to eat because my personal life sucks’ diet. If I wrote a how-to book about it, I could make millions.” She looked at him. “How does it go so wrong so fast? This wasn’t what I wanted. I came downstairs specifically to have dinner with Claire so we could talk. Instead, we end up fighting. I don’t get it.”
Wyatt was careful not to say anything. He loved Nicole like a sister, but she could be a handful. From what he’d seen, Claire was a lot more even tempered. Not that he would admit to that, even if tortured.
“She’s been gone a long time. You’re dealing with a lot,” he said instead. “Take things slow.”
“I guess.”
She turned to him, stepped into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder.
“Do you think I’m a good person?” she asked.
“Of course! Why?” He rubbed her back.
“It’s possible I’m the biggest bitch on the planet.”
“No way.”
“You weren’t here.”
“I didn’t have to be. I know you. You’re not a bitch. You’re difficult and stubborn, but not mean.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.
He put his arms around her and held her close. She closed her eyes. He paused, hoping to feel something… anything. A flicker. A spark. Even an ember would be welcome. There was nothing.
The fire only happened with Claire, he thought grimly. Just his luck.
“My life sucks,” she muttered as she pulled back and sank into the chair. “And I just made it worse.”
He took the seat across from hers. “I doubt that.”
“Stop defending me. I don’t deserve it. I was mean to Claire.”
He didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago that when a woman wanted to talk, it was best to stay out of the way and listen.
“She made dinner,” Nicole continued. “She cooked a chicken. It was really good. We were getting along, but then she started talking about George Clooney. She’s met him. She’s met all kinds of stars and famous people and hearing about them really pissed me off. I hate that her life has been so great. She spends all her time going from city to city, playing the piano. Oooh, there’s a tough job. She talked about the guys in the orchestra, how they like to party every night. Of course she claimed she didn’t party. Her life was just so hard. I suppose fitting in that extra massage would be a real problem. And counting her money. That has to take days and days.”
Nicole stopped talking and looked at Wyatt. “You want to change your opinion about me now?”
“No. But I do want to know why she pushes all your buttons.”
Nicole hesitated. “It just makes me so angry. She got everything. She’s the one our parents talked about all the time. They were so proud. She was the star and I was stuck home taking care of everything. I hate her.”
“No, you don’t.”
Nicole narrowed her gaze. “I don’t like it when you’re reasonable. Have I mentioned that?”
“Once or twice. You don’t hate your sister. You don’t know her well enough to feel much of anything. You hate what happened to you because of her life and it’s easier to say you hate her than blame your parents or circumstances.”
“Have you been watching Oprah?”
“You’re saying a guy can’t be insightful?”
“Pretty much.”
“I’ve known you a while now. It’s a lot easier for me to see what’s going on in your life than it is for you.”
“I guess, but I like it better when I’m the deep one in our relationship. I just…” She shrugged. “I feel guilty. I hate that I feel guilty. I know she’s fine.” She looked at Wyatt. “Tell me she’s fine.”
“Want me to go check on her?”
“Please. She’s downstairs.”
“In the basement?”
“In the studio.”
Wyatt got up and headed for the basement stairs. He’d forgotten about the enclosed soundproof room built for Claire to practice. She’d gone away when she’d been six or seven, which meant it hadn’t gotten a whole lot of use. As he stepped in the basement, he frowned as he realized Claire had been a couple of years younger than Amy was now when she’d gone off with her grandmother. She must have missed her family a lot.
Especially Nicole, he thought. They were twins.
He knew Nicole had a lot of issues and he didn’t blame her for any of them. She’d had it tough, looking after Jesse, working in the bakery. She’d been the responsible one. But what had Claire been?
He opened the door to the studio and was immediately caught up in the beauty of the music. He didn’t know anything about classical songs or concertos or whatever it was she was playing—only that the piece was incredibly rich and almost… sad.
The piano was situated such that Claire’s back was to him. She swayed as she played, her long, blond hair moving with her, catching the light. She either hadn’t heard the door or didn’t care that he was there. He would guess the former.
She