Not soon enough, he thought to himself.
The sound of a phone ringing echoed through the air. Everyone looked up from their respective conversations. Disappointment showed on their faces when it was just another agent’s phone. Frustrated with the entire situation, Alexander got up off the couch, wanting to escape the hushed voices and sympathetic eyes. He felt like an intruder in his own house.
Heading out of the living room, he passed the kitchen, his mother busy making trays upon trays of her famous lasagna. Apparently, she planned on feeding a small army. Alexander didn’t say anything, though. This was her coping mechanism, but eating was the last thing on his mind, as was probably the case for most everyone else there.
He continued down the hallway, looking at the photos hanging on the walls. Each of them told a story. Melanie’s first Red Sox game. Her first trip to Walt Disney World. Her first T-ball game. For a man who, at one point, never wanted a wife or kids, they had become his world.
Coming to a stop at a black-and-white canvas, Alexander ran his hand over it. The photo had been taken when Melanie wasn’t even a day old. She lay in a custom-made pink blanket, his hand resting on her stomach, as if protecting her from this strange new place in which she found herself. She was so small, so vulnerable. He remembered looking into her eyes and finally feeling as if he were whole.
Melanie was everything he never knew he always needed.
Placing his hand on the wall to steady himself, he bit his lip, fighting back the emotions wanting to break free. Out of nowhere, whispered voices cut through the silence, snapping him out of his memories. Creeping down the hallway, he turned a corner into an alcove leading to Melanie’s playroom, seeing Olivia and Martin in deep conversation. They simultaneously shot their heads toward him.
“Sir,” Martin said in greeting.
“Everything okay?” Alexander asked with a furrowed brow, curious as to what they could have been discussing. Olivia appeared jumpy, as if she just got caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Then again, she had been fidgety all day.
“Certainly,” Martin answered. “I was just reassuring Mrs. Burnham that she’s doing the right thing by making the drop. That what she’s doing is a brave thing, but she has nothing to worry about.” He looked between Olivia and Alexander. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll give the two of you some privacy. I’m sure you’re both tired of constantly being under the FBI’s watchful eye. Take a few minutes for yourselves.” Martin gave Alexander a look he couldn’t quite explain. Remorse? Apprehension? Perhaps a bit aloof? “Try to find some sort of normal amidst the turmoil. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, trying to convince your mother that four trays of lasagna are more than enough for the handful of people here.” His normally resolute expression softened when he spoke of Alexander’s mother, then he turned and left.
Once Martin disappeared from view, Alexander peered into Olivia’s eyes. He wished he knew exactly what was going through her mind. Was she nervous about what she had committed herself to do? Worried? Afraid? Her eyes didn’t give anything away.
Taking her hand in his, he led her down the hall, stopping outside a rounded oak door in the style of the late nineteenth-century house.
“Alex, no…” She began to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Just humor me, love.” He gave her a pleading look, telling her he needed this as much as she did.
Letting out a sigh, she stopped fighting him. He gave her an encouraging smile, then opened the door. He flipped the switch, light spilling through the room. Relief washed over him, the tension that filled his body throughout the day slowly leaving with each step they took inside their own little oasis within the chaos.
Framed prints of some of their favorite musicians hung on the walls — The Beatles, Prince, Billy Joel, The Eagles. All the classics. Several guitars sat on their stands against one wall. On the opposite wall, a couch and loveseat made up a sitting area. In the center of the room was the focal point…a stunning baby grand piano. Its beautiful music filled the room on a daily basis, except today. This was the first day since Alexander could remember that he didn’t hear the familiar sound of a hammer hitting strings. It had always brought him joy. He needed to feel that again. He needed to feel something other than anger and heartache.
“Play something for me,” he whispered into Olivia’s curls, nuzzling her neck.
“I… I can’t, Alex.” Her voice was barely audible as she stood frozen in place, staring at the piano.
“You need this, Olivia.” He ran his fingers down her back, wanting her to feel some sort of love in a world that didn’t seem real.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Please,” he murmured against her skin. “For me. I need this, too.”
Spinning around, she met his eyes. He knew he was asking a lot of her, considering the mark Melanie had left on this very room, how pronounced her absence had become in the last few seconds. They needed this time to themselves, their own way of praying for the safe return of their daughter. Some people went to church. Some found God in nature. Music had always been a big part of all their lives. This was their sanctuary. Their refuge. Their temple.
Taking her hand, Alexander led Olivia across the refinished hardwood floor and pulled out the piano bench. She looked at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. He squeezed her hand, hoping to give her some of his supposed strength. He refused to let her know he felt anything but strong at that moment.
Drawing in a long breath, she closed her eyes, then lowered herself onto the bench, placing her hands on the cool ivory keys. Alexander sat beside her, needing to stay by her side. He didn’t know how much time passed as they sat in the still room, the ticking of the clock like an unyielding metronome counting down to zero hour. Just when he didn’t think Olivia would actually play, the sound of the piano filled the room, soft and low, almost timid. He placed his hand on her leg and their eyes met.
It was just as difficult for Alexander to listen to this song as it was for Olivia to play it, but they needed to do this. This was Melanie’s song. The song she always begged Olivia to play for her. The song she always sang as she danced through the house. The song Olivia used to sing to her when she was just a baby. It brought Melanie comfort in those early days. Now, it made Alexander feel oddly at peace.