Two days later, on that Saturday, Giselle watched Tierney leave through the gate with Charley. It was time for her dog’s long walk, and Charley was bouncing at the end of the leash. Tierney let her work off some of her exuberance and then reeled her in. Charley looked adoringly at the young woman and seemed to be eager to please her trainer.
Giselle confessed to herself that she would have given anything to join them. Why was it so difficult, so downright impossible to go outside her gate? A couple of years ago, she’d enjoyed walking in the woods and along the deserted gravel roads around the neighborhood. Now, she felt only reasonably safe from having one of her panic attacks when she stayed at the house or in her garden. It was ridiculous, and since Tierney had begun training Charley, she felt cheated. Three nights had passed since Tierney had talked her way into working for her. Each day that passed made her question how the hell she’d make her days work after Tierney left. The last two days had gone very smoothly, making Giselle wonder if either she was transparent or if Tierney was clairvoyant, since the other woman often picked up on what Giselle wanted before she’d said a word.
Giselle stood by the window, holding her cooling cup of tea. Tierney and Charley were out of sight, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the view of the flowerbed that Tierney had begun weeding. Frances was still the one Giselle would rely on, no questions asked, but the woman was in her late sixties, and her back often acted up. Gardening was getting too hard on her—and who knew when she’d return home to the US. Giselle had received a short email from her in which she wrote that her sister would need around-the-clock care for the foreseeable future. The mere fact that Frances hadn’t asked if Giselle had found a replacement spoke of Frances’s concern for her sister. Normally, she was extremely protective of Giselle and thoroughly dedicated to her work as assistant and housekeeper. Giselle wrote an equally brief note back, stating she understood that Frances needed—and should—prioritize her family members and that she had employed someone else. She didn’t see any need to mention that Tierney would be staying with her for only two weeks. Giselle knew Tierney would stay longer if she asked, but for some unfathomable reason, that seemed ill-advised.
Her cellphone rang, and she glanced at the screen. Vivian. Straightening her back as if the world-renowned mezzo-soprano could see her, Giselle answered.
“Dearest!” Vivian sounded like she was in the same room with Giselle. “I’m just calling to confirm our meeting tomorrow.”
“We’re on, Vivian. How are you?” Giselle walked to the music room, still speaking. “And Mike?”
“We’re both splendid. I saw my eye doctor last week, and he thinks the progression of the disease has stopped, at least for now. That means I can identify shadows and brightness and that I’ll keep that ability for an extended period. I was really dreading complete blackness.”
Giselle closed her eyes hard, as if trying to experience being visually challenged. She saw a bright pattern on the inside of her eyelids from squeezing her eyelids too tight. “I’m glad you have some good news, medically speaking, Vivian.”
“And you, dearest? Anything looking up for you when it comes to your diagnosis?” Vivian spoke matter-of-factly, clearly not considering her question intrusive. Perhaps it was because Vivian, and the rest of Chicory Ariose, didn’t regard mental-health issues as any type of a stigma.
“I haven’t seen a doctor or a therapist in more than a year. The last one suggested hypno-therapy, but the mere idea gave me such anxiety, I…I just couldn’t.” Giselle sat down on the piano stool. “I have found a routine that works. I can still write music, and with Tierney here—”
“Ah, that sweet girl! She showed up in the nick of time, I understand. Poor Frances has her hands full in the UK, I imagine.”
“Tierney is very conscientious and a nice young woman.” Trying to speak without inflection in her voice, Giselle played with the edge of her mug.
“Very nice,” Vivian said. “And, according to Mike, very striking.”
Images of Tierney’s long, dark-auburn hair and light-gray eyes, the slightly upturned nose, which boasted a band of pink freckles against her pale complexion, appeared. The way she moved with such ease and confidence, like she was a woman of the world and knew exactly what to do, or not, at any given time, made Giselle want to ask Tierney about her past. The story she had given Giselle about looking at colleges didn’t ring true, but as far as she knew that was the only thing Tierney had deliberately lied about.
“She’s very beautiful. Outdoorsy.” Giselle could hear the awe in her own voice. She had to stop talking about Tierney altogether. “Please tell me you and Mike are staying for dinner. We have plenty since Tierney stocked up the pantry and the freezer as if food is going out of style.”
“We’d love to. Should we shoot for two p.m.?” Vivian’s voice gave her smile away.
“Sounds good. Just come directly to the music room if I’m working. I have some new pieces and need your feedback.”
“Exciting. See you tomorrow then, dearest.” True to her nature, Vivian blew her a kiss over the phone and disconnected the call.
Turning toward the grand piano, Giselle began playing the soft, slow piece she’d been working on the last few days. Every time she thought she was onto something, it sounded too sweet, too romantic. She saw nothing wrong with music being romantic, but this melody needed a chorus that was gentle yet not ingratiating. Words for a potential lyric were floating in her mind, but nothing had manifested itself as solid. After all, she wasn’t a lyricist. Chicory Ariose would have to decide whom they wanted to write the lyrics for Giselle’s songs. Perhaps Eryn, their electric guitarist, who also was a journalist, had the required skills?
The verse flowed so well when she played it, but when she attempted to let her fingers run over the keys and flow into the chorus, she came to a stop.
“So beautiful,” Tierney said from the doorway, and only now did Giselle realize she’d forgotten to lock the door.
“Thank you. It’s not ready yet. Not by far.” She couldn’t fault Tierney for poking her head in when the door was open. To date, she’d never disturbed Giselle when it was closed.
“I could tell you’re struggling with the chorus. May I hear the verses again? And perhaps the bridge, if that’s ready?” Tierney smiled encouragingly.
About to refuse and break off the writing session, Giselle couldn’t make herself extinguish the light in Tierney’s eyes. “Sure. Take a seat here.” She pulled a round stool close and patted it. “You’re a music lover. Tell me what you think.” She played the intro and moved on to the verse. Then she went on to play the bridge, a melody that would challenge the singer, in this case Vivian. After she finished, she lowered her hands onto her lap and turned to Tierney. “Yes?”
“Stunning verse and bridge. I’m sure nobody but Vivian could ever manage that last note.” Tierney hummed the melody of the bridge, and even if her voice was quiet, it was pitch-perfect.
Giselle stared at Tierney. “You can sing?”
“I can carry a tune.” Tierney tucked her hands under her thighs, as if to keep from nervously fiddling with them.
“Can you just hum along as I play, you think?” She was all professional now and only regarding Tierney as an unexpected tool in the process.
“Um. Sure. Why not?” Tierney colored faintly.
Giselle played the intro again, and when she came to the verse, Tierney began to sing rather than hum, a wordless sound of different vowels, following the melody. When they reached the chorus, Giselle managed to keep at it for a few moments, creating a melody that didn’t seem too saccharine.
“Better,” Giselle muttered and wrote down several rows of music on her sheet. “Besides, you seemed to hit that note just fine, even using your chest voice.”
“Yeah?” Tierney seemed to relax. “I really love the melody, and you played more of the chorus this time.”
“That’s why I had to write it down instantly. When I’m at this stage, experimenting with the music so much for hours, I need to make sure I know which version I saw some potential in.” Enthusiastic now, Giselle immersed herself in the melody and chorus of one of the other songs, for which she had a decent first draft ready. “This one then? Keep in mind it’s a rough draft.”
“Wow.” Tierney looked dazed. “A rough draft? It’s…I hate to keep repeating myself, but it’s beautiful.” Blinking, Tierney shook her head slightly. “If I wasn’t a down-to-earth person, I’d say ghosts or other spiritual critters are at work.”
“What do you mean?” Giselle’s lips parted. “Ghosts?”
Tierney lowered her gaze, and Giselle could feel her withdraw. What was wrong now?
* * *
Why couldn’t she simply think before she spoke? Tierney pinched her thigh to punish herself. What would she say now that sounded at all plausible? Giselle was still studying her closely, and even if Tierney would have given a lot to have such attention directed at her from the exciting mystery of a woman that was her employer, this wasn’t what she had in mind.
“I only meant—”
“You’ve heard this melody before?” Clearly stricken at the thought of her song not being original enough, Giselle laced her hands together. She looked like she couldn’t bear to play her instrument right now, not even touch it. This reaction in turn shocked Tierney into action. No way could she let Giselle think that.
“Never in my life have I heard anything like that.” Tierney didn’t think but reached out and placed her hand on Giselle’s right arm. “That wasn’t what I meant. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but something I wrote my first night in the guesthouse has pretty much the same cadence as your melody. I mean, my stuff is amateurish and not anything special unless you—well, unless you’re me, or know me really well.”
“You wrote something? A text? Lyrics? And they fit this piece?” Giselle now placed her hand over Tierney’s. “Do you know it by heart well enough to sing it with my composition? It doesn’t matter if it is nonsense or less than perfect, but it would really help for me to hear lyrics, any lyrics, with this melody.”
Tierney sighed. Oh, she was in so much trouble. The text was about her, how she felt, and a portrait at this point in her life. Sighing inaudibly, Tierney nodded. “Just take it a little slower and let me find where I need to start. The verse and the chorus are dead-on, but I haven’t written any words to fit the bridge.”
“All right. No pressure, Tierney. Just hum if you don’t remember or have any words.”
Tierney rubbed her now-sweaty palms on her thighs. This was crazy, but she wanted to help Giselle, and if she had to expose herself to do it, it couldn’t be helped.
Giselle began playing, and Tierney listened intently to the melody. Joining in with the lyric to the first verse, she hoped nothing would make this moment any more awkward or, worse, get her prematurely fired.
The sunlight bathed her
Drowned her with its gold
Proved it had the power
To keep her from the cold
Still she played it safe
Tried staying in the shade
Wary of the sunshine
Mindful of the shame
Giselle stopped playing. Her slender hands with their long fingers lay like slain birds on the keys of the piano. She slowly turned her head toward Tierney. “What…” She cleared her throat and drew a deep breath. “What, or who, is that song about, Tierney?” Before Tierney had a chance to answer, Giselle snapped her eyes wide open and captured her. “And be honest.”
Tierney blinked and dug her blunt nails into her palms. With more confidence than she felt, she jutted her chin out and answered truthfully. “You.”