Blue Heart Blessed (9 page)

I
am tripping my way across the black keys, trying very hard to play “Berceuse for Piano in D-flat Major” without making Solomon grimace in pain.

My fingers touch an unflatted A key by accident and he swivels to face me. The polished violin under his chin is already making him hunch his shoulders. Add a little facial contortion and he surely seems to have just been stabbed with a dull blade.

“Sorry!” I resist the urge to remind him he forced me to do this.

We continue and I whisper the count in my head—one-two-three, four-five-six.

I flat an F and Solomon cocks his head. “Five flats in D flat major, Daisy. F’s not one of them.”

“I know, I know,” I mutter, willing my hands to stay on those black keys.

Would it really have stopped the world from turning if Chopin had written this thing in D major instead of D flat? I mean really. One, tiny little half step up.

“He should’ve written this in D!” I say impulsively.

And Solomon turns toward me again, his bow still caressing the strings. He doesn’t miss a note. “It wouldn’t have been the same.”

“It would’ve been easier to play.”

“Easier isn’t necessarily better.”

He sounds just like my Dad. My dad would’ve said changing a key does indeed change a song. There is only one way to play a piece of music; and that is the way it blossomed out of your head and heart when you wrote it. Only that one way.

And I would’ve said, “But you transpose songs all the time.”

And he would’ve said, “But the transposed version is never as beautiful as the original. There is just the one way a piece of music is meant to played. Every other way, even if it is easier, is inferior. You don’t want to settle for mediocrity, Daisy.”

We are nearing the end.

Solomon has eyes closed as he wraps it up. “Retard a little here,” he says and I obey.

Ta da.

We are finished.

I look up and see that Father Laurent and Liam have poked their heads through Solomon’s open doorway. Father Laurent looks perfectly relaxed as usual. Liam looks unimpressed.

“Come in, Miles.” Solomon sees them, too.

Miles is Father Laurent’s first name. I can’t call him that. He is Father Laurent to me and always will be.

“That was very nice.” Father Laurent walks in and Liam follows. “Don’t you think, Liam? Liam’s learning the piano, too.”

“Well, maybe someday you can play for me, Liam.” Solomon places his violin back in its case.

“I’m sure anyone would be an improvement over me,” I announce as I stand up from the bench.

“You’re weren’t that bad, Daisy.” Solomon surely thinks it will make me feel so much better to hear I wasn’t that bad.

“I thought it was beautiful.” Father Laurent turns to his grandson. “Didn’t you think so, Liam?”

The boy shrugs. “She hit some wrong notes.”

Leave it to a kid to tell it exactly how it is.

Father Laurent smiles. “Oh, well, not very many of us can hit all the right notes all the time.”

Okay, I’m ready for a second mocha and another hour on the roof. “Good luck at the wedding, Solomon, I’m sure you’ll do great.” I start to ease my way around the trio of men when Father Laurent stops me.

“Actually, Daisy. I was wondering if you’re still open to giving Liam and me a ride to the airport to pick up Ramsey.”

“Where’s Max?” I answer.

“I don’t know. He’s not here. I think maybe he forgot. Your aunt said she saw him leave early this morning with all his camera equipment.”

Max.

“When do you need to leave?” I ask as I yank out the scrunchy in my hair. I must look like the bride of Frankenstein.

“We really should be leaving now, but as soon as you could take us would be fine.”

It’s not like I have a lot of things going on this morning. I wish I looked a little more put together, though. Oh well. That’s life. “Let me change real quick.” I head for the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the parking lot in ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Father Laurent says.

I dash out, yelling a goodbye to Solomon.

He calls out after me. “Thanks, Daisy! And I meant what I said. You really weren’t that bad!”

I sprint down the stairs with his words in my head. I suppose it’s better than hearing, “You really weren’t that good!”

In my apartment, I grab a pair of khaki capris and a pink silk T-shirt that is nearly dry from being hand-washed the night before. I slip my feet into rose-hued espadrilles and run my fingers through my hair. I stop in the bathroom long enough to put mascara on the top lashes and a dab of peach-colored blush on my cheeks. A spritz of sweet pea body spray and I am out the door.

Mom meets me on the stairs. “What’s up?”

“Max forgot he was supposed to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport this morning to pick up Liam’s dad.” I say this as I hurry past her.

“Oh,” she says, in a kind of peculiar, thoughtful way.

But I don’t have time for a conversation about Max’s shortcomings. I continue on my way and am through the door that leads to the back entrance of the building. Moments later, Father Laurent, Liam and I are headed east toward the airport.

Baggage claim at Minneapolis-Saint Paul is one long hallway of carts, wheeled suitcases, happy people embracing each other, and bored people holding up signs inscribed with last names. It’s just after ten-thirty in the morning, but the expanse of wide walkways and luggage carousels is bustling with activity. Liam and I are sitting on plastic chairs joined at the hip while Father Laurent checks the monitor for arrival information for his son’s flight.

I learned on the way over here that Ramsey’s car is at a friend’s house here in Minneapolis, but that the friend and his wife are in Chicago for five days. All I have to do is take Father Laurent, his son and his grandson to this friend’s house and they will be off on their own. And I will be off on mine.

Maybe I will pop over to Shelby’s and see how her date last night compares with mine. I turn to Liam sitting next to me.

“So, you must be really glad your Dad’s coming home.” I know full well how lame that sounds. Of course he’s glad.

“Yep.” Liam doesn’t elaborate.

“Did you hear much from him while he’s been gone?”

Liam swings his head around in Father Laurent’s direction. “He emailed me everyday. And we talked on Skype.”

Awkward silence.

“So what was your dad doing in Tokyo?” I venture.

“He builds gardens and stuff. He’s a landscape architect.”

“Wow. That sounds cool. You must have a nice yard at your house.”

“Which one?”

I hesitate. Does he mean which yard or which house? “Um, where you live when you’re with your Dad.” I hope I’m right.

“Yeah. It’s pretty nice, I guess.”

More silence.

“So you like playing the piano?”

“It’s okay.”

“Ever play any wrong notes?”

A smile creases his face. “Sure.”

“Your mom make you practice?”

Liam looks up at me like I’ve said something very strange. “No. She never hears me play. I have a keyboard with earphones, ‘cause she and Vic don’t have a piano. I play on my dad’s piano, though, when I visit him on weekends. He plays. He’s teaching me.”

“Oh. Must’ve been kind of hard to practice then while your dad’s been gone.”

Liam nods. “Yeah.”

“So did you?”

He smirks. “Sometimes.”

Father Laurent returns to us. “Ramsey’s flight landed ten minutes early. It looks like he’ll be heading for carousel fifteen.”

We are sitting near carousel seven.

“I’ll just stay here and let you guys reconnect,” I say.

“If you’re sure you’ll be all right?” Father Laurent’s tone is kind and endearing.

I wave a hand.

“Okay, then. We’ll be back soon, I think.” He and Liam head down the busy corridor.

I spend the next ten minutes watching the flow of humanity move past me. I watch young lovers who’d been separated press their lips together as if never to part again. I watch grandmothers leaning down to hug the grandchildren they probably wish they saw more of. I watch executives whiz by with tiny remote, cell-phone mouth pieces attached to their faces, talking as if to no one.

An elderly woman takes a seat next to me and settles her belongings all around her. I smile a wordless greeting.

“I think my daughter might be running late.” The woman looks over her shoulder and back around again. “At least I hope that’s all it is. I hope she hasn’t been in an accident or anything.”

“Traffic can be a little troublesome depending on where she lives.” I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s just not like her to be late,” the woman continues in a worried voice. She checks her watch. “I said I’d wait right by the carousels for Delta so she wouldn’t have to park. But I keep watching the street outside and I don’t see her.”

This woman is not in the right place.

“The carousels right here are for United. She might be waiting for you a few exits down.” I point to the other doors that lead to the outside world.

“Oh! Oh, dear!” The woman stands and starts to collect her things. An overnight bag she’d placed on her shoulder falls to the ground. “Oh,” she says again. She picks it up, grabs her purse, shopping bag and suitcase and then drops it again.

I stand and retrieve the shoulder bag. “Here. If you place your overnight bag over the handle of your suitcase you can just pull them both along. See?”

“Thanks. Thank you so much.” She begins to walk briskly away. And as she does, I see that Father Laurent and Liam have returned. And a third person is with them. Ramsey. He has Father Laurent’s kind, dark eyes, but his jaw is set differently. A scattering of gray touches his temples. Ramsey Laurent is a little taller than his father, and has more hair, but the family resemblance is still strong. And yet he doesn’t look like Father Laurent at all.

I’ve no idea how long they’ve been standing there.

Father Laurent quickly introduces me to his son. “Daisy, this is Ramsey. Ramsey, this is Daisy Murien, my landlady.”

It takes a lot of effort not to laugh.

A landlady, indeed.

I’m in no position of authority over Father Laurent. The idea is absurd. He is the wise and respected one. The one I run to for direction and consolation. I simply take his rent checks and deposit them into Reuben’s bank account.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, remembering my manners and extending my hand.

“Likewise,” Ramsey returns the handshake. His grip is firm, almost stern. We let go and he lets his hand fall back to rest on Liam’s shoulder.

“Got all your luggage?” I say.

“Yes. Thanks. It’s all here.”

“Okay. Well. Shall we go?”

There is something about Ramsey that needles me as we head to the escalators and short-term parking. There is something odd about this man who looks so much like Father Laurent and yet who doesn’t resemble him at all.

I decide as we enter the parking structure that Ramsey lacks the copious amounts of laugh lines that his father has. Wrinkles like that come from age, though, don’t they? And Ramsey can’t be much more than seven or eight years older than me.

Perhaps in twenty years he’ll have them, too.

I watch him talk to Liam in low tones. I study his eyes as we continue to walk, looking for the telltale signs that creases from smiling too much are growing beneath his skin. But I don’t see them.

He looks up at me.

I look away.

Dear Harriet,

It’s been a very odd day. It began all right, I guess. No… actually, it began rather pathetically. I realized while I nursed a mocha on the roof that I’m basking in bitterness, roiling with resentment. I’m an Eeyore.

This revelation is all thanks to you, since I did in fact take my woes to the chapel last night and I came away from that lovely experience with the knowledge that I’ve all the appeal of soured milk.

I was able to make things right with my mother, though. That felt pretty good. And I guess knowing I’m a pitiful sourpuss is better than thinking I’m a pretty amiable person and what-the-heck’s-wrong-with-everybody-else when it’s really me who has problems.

I asked Father Laurent to help me kill the monster inside me. I found him in the chapel this morning and I begged to help me out. He did the most amazing thing. He pulled one of my little blue hearts out of his pocket, blessed it and gave it to me. He told me to keep it close to my heart so that I wouldn’t ever forget that today had been a turning point for me.

I’ve no idea why he had one of those hearts in his pants pocket. None at all. Maybe he misses his wife like I miss Daniel and having it comforts him.

Actually I am learning it’s not Daniel I miss. It’s the euphoria of being in love that I grieve for.

Which brings me to what happened a little while after Father Laurent gave me the heart. Max was supposed to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport to pick up Liam’s dad, but he forgot and I took them instead. So I got to meet Ramsey Laurent. I knew a little about him from the conversations I’ve had with Father and Liam and of course, there’s that whole nasty thing the Horn Blower did to him. For some reason I pictured him looking like Father Laurent’s wife, whose picture I’ve seen in Father’s living room. But the guy looks just like his dad. But then he also doesn’t look like him. It’s the weirdest thing.

He sat in the front seat of my car while I drove him and Father and Liam to get his own vehicle from a friend’s house. I caught him looking at me several times.

I wish I knew what Father Laurent has told him about me.

Maybe he hasn’t told him anything. Maybe he’s never mentioned me at all.

If you ask me, I think he spends far too much time away from home. I don’t think Liam particularly likes his new stepdad. And Ramsey lives too far away for Liam to live at both houses.

And what’s with that? Why did the guy relocate to Duluth when his marriage ended? Leaving his kid with no choice but to stay in Minneapolis with his mother and the man who came between his parents?

I don’t get it.

Couldn’t get a hold of Shelby today. She may call later tonight. Do you suppose she went out with this Eric guy two nights in a row?

I’m watching
Sweet Home Alabama.
The dress Reese Witherspoon wears in the almost-wedding scene is fairly understated but that’s why it works. Besides she was about to marry the wrong guy anyway.

Dear Daisy,

You are not an Eeyore. Eeyore was gloomy, not bitter. And being bitter is definitely worse than being gloomy. A gloomy person can be cheered. A bitter person can only be made un-bitter if they choose it. And there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it if they don’t.

Sounds like you’ve made a good choice. I would imagine coming out from under bitterness might take awhile. Like losing a few pounds compares with getting a haircut. Both make you look different but one takes a lot longer than the other.

Who knows why Father Laurent had a little blue heart in his pocket? Yes, it does seem a little strange, but you may be right. Maybe he, like you, believes in the power of symbol to soothe.

And that thing with Ramsey Laurent and his son? You don’t get it because it’s not yours to get. MYOB.

Of course it’s possible Shelby went out with Eric again. An un-bitter person would be happy for her if she did.

Love the fit on the
Sweet Home Alabama
almost-wedding dress.

Doesn’t that movie have a happily-ever after ending?

Harriet