Page 13 of Angel's Flight

“My father was a musician too,” Christine said with a smile.“It’s wonderful how love of song and harmony can flow through blood.”

“I’m sure your heirs will be prodigies when you have them,” Jack replied.“Though I do not wish you as many as my mother.I have eight siblings, on earth and in heaven.”

It was Christine’s turn to quietly wince, and for Erik to squeeze her hand.Each month, she wondered if something would be different and she would discover that no, she wasn’t barren, thanks to a childhood illness.She hated how she wished for it in her heart, over and over, in the days before her blood came.Erik had no desire for children and was glad they wouldn’t have any, and it would be such a terrible complication to everything, but she wanted it, even so.

“She sounds like a brave woman,” Erik offered.“I have heard of Lucca.It must be beautiful to be so near the ocean.Is it cooler than this in the summer?”

“A bit.You must visit if you can.How long will you be in Firenze?I must go home in a few weeks.Someone is having a birthday or a christening.Or was it a wedding?I can’t recall, but my attendance is required.”

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here,” Christine said with a mix of sadness and hope.Things were looking up after a poor start to the day.They were making friends, and maybe that could give them the confidence to put down some roots.

“We could not think to impose,” Erik added.

“Nonsense.You’re my friend now, and my house is open to you...for a price.”Jack gave a playful grin and looked around the nearly-empty restaurant.

“A price?”Erik echoed.“I don’t—”

“Play for me again.Something old or something you have written,” Jack prompted.Christine realized he had been looking at the decrepit piano tucked in the corner.“I would offer a trade of one of my compositions, but it would be a poor exchange, so I offer friendship and hospitality instead.”

Christine caught Erik’s eye as he looked to her for reassurance.He had played for Jack this morning atSanta Croce, but this was a far more intimate setting where Erik was exposed.There were two patrons eating in another corner, and the cook and waiter were chatting through a door.Yet, Christine could see the spark of interest in his eyes.Despite being a man who hid in the shadows, Erik loved an audience.

“Go ahead, my love,” Christine said sweetly.“Though we must warn our new friend that all other music will seem lacking after he hears yours.”

“Glad you aren’t setting the expectations too high,” Erik grumbled, but Christine knew he treasured the compliment.“If you both insist.”

“We do,” Jack chortled.

They moved to the piano, Jack and Christine taking seats at an empty table as Erik settled himself before the keys.Christine wondered what was going through his mind – was it a tangle of all the different melodies she knew were constantly playing there?Was he plucking one from the bunch to improvise upon, or would he be choosing a composition he had explored before?

Erik began and it was indeed a melody Christine had heard in his compositions.A song of sweet, sad hope, filled with longing.Erik changed it from the last time Christine had heard it and sung along without words.Now it sounded like Florence itself; like the soaring cathedrals and crooked old streets full of life and tragedy, a river of love flowing through the center, like a vein from a breaking heart.

Christine tore her eyes away from the sight of Erik losing himself in the music to look at Jack.He was entirely overcome, his mouth slack beneath his moustache, and tears in the corners of his eyes.She had suspected he was the sort of musician who cared not for honors nor spotlight, but who truly and deeply loved music.And so he was.The young student watched Erik with nothing short of awe, and Christine couldn’t help but beam with pride.She only wished she could sing too, but it was not her moment.

Erik finished too soon and turned to his meager audience.To Christine’s delight, all the people in the room, strangers and friends alike, burst into applause.She saw the way Erik drank it in, and it filled her with the same bittersweet pride as before.

“You were right, Signora Gilbride,” Jack said, breathless as he clapped.“I will never be the same after this.”

“Erik has that effect on people,” Christine agreed, though the way Erik upended lives and transformed all he met wasn’t always a blessing.It had been for her, but it had come with pain.

They ambled back to their flat through the nighttime streets of Florence.The heat had faded at last, and the air was sweet and warm.Christine felt content and confident enough to lace her arm through Erik’s, take his hand, and rest her head on his shoulder as they walked.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?”Christine asked hopefully.“I like Jack.”

“Do you think I should meet him again as he asked?I worry if I critique his work, I’ll be too cruel,” Erik mused.“And I don’t want to leave you alone again.”

“I have made a new friend too,” Christine said with a smile, proud to finally share her secret.“Her name is Pauline.She’s French.Someone I can talk to.”

“That’s good,” Erik replied, but didn’t sound like he meant it.

“If you can trust Jack, I can trust her,” Christine chided, and Erik gave an assenting sort of grunt as they reached the entrance to their flat.Signore Genco was there with his mother and another man, conversing over pipes in the night.

“Buona sera,” the mother said, then asked Erik something else in Italian that Christine didn’t understand.She wished she had because it made her husband and the other men laugh.

“She said, ‘The night makes everyone beautiful, until a real beauty like you comes along to outshine us all,’” Erik whispered in her ear.

Christine blushed and sent the old woman a smile.“She is too kind.”

“She is right.Let us go up, my wife,” Erik went on, tugging Christine’s waist.

---