Page 77 of A Boy Called Lovesong

He stopped playing mid-chord.

He set his guitar aside.

Then, guiding his hand through the air as though it was drawn to the heat of my body, he laid his palm over my heart. “They say time heals all wounds, but that ain’t true at all. Sometimes the needle of life skips a groove on the record. Sometimes we have to go back to the start of the song and begin all over again. Sometimes we have to learn to move in time to a strange new melody, one we don’t know the steps to. But if our hearts keep beating in time with the music, then maybe… just maybe… we’ll learn to dance again.”

He leaned forward and kissed me, then said, “Love can’t make loss go away. Butonlylove can make it fade into the background, little by little, until eventually, on a good day, we might be lucky enough to forget it’s even there.”

He kissed me once more and whispered. “Only love can teach us to dance again.”

It was late by the time we returned to the manor. We walked in the door in our sodden clothes—hand in hand, his fingers lightly tethered to mine—to find all the lights were off but for a lamp downstairs in the vestibule and another at the top of the stairs.

The place was quiet, still, and while I turned to head for the elevator, Lovesong pulled me back. “That rattly old thing’ll wake the whole manor. Follow me.”

He led me to the grand staircase, and we stopped at the foot of it. “Are you sure?” I asked, looking at the shadowy cracks, the bowed boards and completely collapsed stairs here and there.

“I know, it’s a little like a minefield,” he said. “Just follow my steps, I know exactly where to tread.”

With one hand still in mine, Lovesong led the way, up one step then the next.

Pensively I followed.

Sometimes he stepped wide over a hole.

Sometimes he steered me right then left.

Sometimes he told me to jump when he jumped, two or three steps at a time.

At one point I lost my footing and teetered on the brink of a collapsed step, about to fall in a hole and break my leg. But Lovesong tightened his grip and pulled me into his arms, safe from harm.

When we reached the top step, he turned to me and smiled. “There, that weren’t so bad, was it?”

“I guess not,” I said, glancing back over my shoulder and hoping I never had to do that again.

He pulled me into a kiss, our wet clothes slapping against each other, then asked, “Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight? If you’re ready, I mean.”

I wasn’t sure I was.

Perhaps I was almost ready to start letting loss fade into the background.

Perhaps I was almost ready to believe that I might someday love again.

But at that moment…

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m quite ready yet.”

Lovesong smiled and touched his fingers to my cheek. “That’s okay. I understand.”

Together we walked to the door to our room.

He pushed it open…

And instantly I saw that something was wrong.

My body tensed, and Lovesong felt it.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

The French doors to the balcony were open.

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