Porcelain Keys

by Sarah Beard

  “What kind of ideas?”

  “Oh, you know, trivial things like how to cure tuberculosis, and how to save the Laysan Finch from extinction.”

  He watched me curiously, seeming to decide whether to push me for a real answer. But then he let me off the hook and began pointing out constellations instead.

  When we reached the tree house, he set the lantern on the floor and I saw how different it looked from the last time I’d been there. Shelves were filled with long metal boxes, lenses, and instruments. A large star map covered in red handwritten marks hung on the wall. And in the center of the room, an enormous telescope rested on a heavy-duty tripod.

  I went straight to the cabinet and pulled out my notebook. Thomas eyed it inquisitively, and I hugged it to my stomach to conceal it as much as possible. “So,” I said, nodding at the telescope in an attempt to divert his attention, “do you know how to use that thing?”

  “Are you kidding me?” He grinned. “With two generations of astronomers in the family, I would be a dope not to know how to use it.”

  “Will you show me something? Your grandpa let me look through his telescope a few times, but it’s been years.”

  “You don’t have to get home?”

  Remembering Dad wouldn’t be home until morning, I shook my head.

  He undid the latches on the wall and slid the roof along the wheeled track to the deck, opening the tree house to the night sky.

  Thomas turned off the lantern, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The crescent moon outlined Thomas’s face and hands while he fiddled with the telescope, and for a split second I thought how nothing he showed me tonight could be as beautiful. Something about being with him made the tree house feel more elevated, like I could reach up and graze the stars with my fingertips.

  He punched some numbers into an illuminated keypad, and the telescope moved slowly by itself across the sky, stopping over the east horizon. He looked through an eyepiece and adjusted some dials. “Okay—come here.” He reached out and placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me in front of the telescope.

  I leaned down and peered through the lens to see a planet with vague orange stripes. “Jupiter,” I said, “and four of its moons.”

  “You’ve seen it before, then.”

  I nodded. “It was the first thing your grandpa showed me.”

  Thomas reached for the keypad and entered more numbers, and the telescope panned to a new location. After he made more adjustments, he gestured for me to look. When I did, I saw a faint blue ring, glowing against black space.

  “A nebula,” I said.

  “How can I impress you with my vast knowledge of the universe when you already know what everything is?”

  I straightened and smiled. “Are you trying to impress me?”

  He didn’t reply, just typed more numbers into the keypad. When the telescope came to a rest, he raised an eyebrow and nodded to the eyepiece, offering a challenge.

  I looked through the eyepiece and saw two bright stars close together, one a yellow hue, the other blue.

  “This I haven’t seen before,” I admitted. “It’s beautiful. What is it?”

  “Albireo,” he said. “It’s a binary—two stars orbiting around each other because they’re gravitationally bound.” He started going on about stellar mass and parameters, but all I could focus on was the warmth of his body beside me, his woodsy scent, and the calming timbre of his voice.

  “They’re so brilliant,” I said. “They seem alive.”

  “They are, in a way. There’s a lot going on up there—almost every element in the periodic table is being created. Carbon, oxygen, iron—all the elements in our bodies were made in a star or during a star’s death.”

  “Now that’s impressive. No one has ever told me that I was once a star.” I looked up at him. All I could see was the outline of his hair and shoulders, glazed in silver light. “You know, I’ve never had such a nerdy friend before. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever discussed the periodic table with in a social setting.”

  “Next time we can discuss galactic winds.”

  “Sounds fascinating.” In truth, though, I really was starting to become fascinated. Not with how stars create elements or with galactic winds, but with Thomas Ashby.

  five

  When I woke up Saturday morning, the remnants of Vivian’s makeup job and my tousled hair made me look like I’d just finished an Elle Magazine grunge photo shoot. I tied my hair back loosely before going to work, but I probably should have washed off the makeup too because Dirk stared at me all day.

  “See you Monday, Aria,” Dirk said with a big grin as I left work. I noted it was the first time he actually called me by the correct name.

  Within days, our lunch table grew more crowded with Trisha’s pack of primped friends, and every day was the same awkward lunch party—Dirk flirting with me while occasionally eyeing Trisha, Trisha monopolizing Thomas, and me debating whether to extract myself and just go spend lunch playing the stage piano so I wouldn’t have to watch Trisha flirt with Thomas. But I continued to endure it day after day because I couldn’t seem to pull myself away from him. I wondered if he liked her, but it was hard to tell. He was nice to her, but then, he was nice to everyone.

  “I was wondering,” he said as he dropped me off on a Thursday afternoon, “where are some good hiking trails around here?” He nodded in the direction of Pikes Peak. “I noticed the colors are starting to turn up there.”

  Dad’s truck was gone, so I said, “I have some trail maps inside if you want to come look at them.”

  He followed me through the front door, and I watched uncertainly as his eyes moved from one preserved animal to the next. He bowed before the wolf to study his snarled muzzle at close range. “Well,” he said with a little smirk on his lips, “I know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your dad’s not a vegetarian.”

  I smiled. “Have a seat next to the wolf. I’ll go find those maps.”

  After a few minutes sifting through Dad’s desk, I found some trail maps. I went back downstairs, and uneasiness pulled at my insides when I found Thomas peeking through the parlor window. He turned to face me.

  “That’s a nice piano. You should play something for me.”

  “What makes you think I play?” I handed him the maps.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and his cheeks darkened a bit. “Because . . . I heard you play.”

  I blinked. “When?”

  A piece of his dark hair had fallen over his eyes, and he pushed it out of the way before gazing at me thoughtfully. “The first day of school, at lunch. I was looking for a familiar face to sit by, and when I didn’t find you in the lunch room, I walked the halls looking for you. I heard a piano playing behind the backstage door.” He shrugged. “I went in to see who was playing, and I saw you behind the black curtains. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.” In fact, I was thrilled that he’d heard me play. Thrilled that he’d been looking for me.

  “Good, because you shouldn’t be. It sounded beautiful.” He gestured to the parlor. “You should play something again.”

  A wave of apprehension swept over me and my palms grew moist. Not that I was afraid to play for him, but I didn’t know when Dad would be home. What would I do if Dad showed up while we were in the parlor?

  “Just one song,” he said, his eyes pleading.

  I bit one side of my lower lip, debating. Maybe if I played something amazing, he would forget about that morning in the tree house. He would see me as a prestigious piano prodigy instead of a helpless damsel in distress. And maybe, just maybe, he would fall desperately in love with me. I decided it was worth the risk.

  I pulled a hairpin from beneath my ponytail and straightened it, then picked the lock.

  “Why is it locked?” he asked as I swung open the door.

  “To keep the ghosts inside,” I sa
id half-jokingly. “Have a seat.” I gestured to an overstuffed claw-footed chair by the door, where Mom used to sit when she taught me.

  As I sat on the bench, I realized all my sheet music was under my mattress, so I’d have to play one by heart. I turned to see Thomas making himself comfortable on the chair. He gave me a little smile and his eyes lit up with anticipation.

  Turning back to the piano, I suspended my fingers over the keyboard, unsure yet where I would begin. I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes, searching for the right piece. Something haunting and lovely. Intricate, yet soft. Something that would tug at his soul and make him want more.

  Like the first stroke of color on a blank canvas, a melody flowed into my mind. I listened carefully as it gained more depth and texture, then I grasped onto it until I could name it.

  Chopin’s first etude, A-flat major, opus twenty-five.

  The melody found its way to my fingers, and in turn my fingers found their position on the keys. As I began to play for Thomas, the awareness of his presence warmed me like sunlight on my back. An intense magnetism flared inside me, and each note became a brushstroke painting the lines of his face, the sound of his voice, and the warmth of his touch.

  When I finished the piece and turned around to face him, I was surprised to see him standing right behind me. He stared down at me, a stunned look on his face. “I had to come see how you were doing that,” he said quietly.

  “Doing what?”

  He circled the piano bench to sit by me, and I scooted over to make room. “I had to see what your fingers were doing to make the piano sound like that.” His gaze locked with mine, a sort of reverence in his expression. “But then I saw your face, and the way your arms were moving, the way you were moving, and I realized it wasn’t just your fingers, it was . . . I don’t know. It was you.” He paused. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His face was just inches from mine, a blue flame sparkling in his eyes. We gazed at each other, electricity passing between us.

  “Some people bring the piano to life,” he said softly. “But you, Aria—you make it weep.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “No—it was that good. It made me want to cry, or run through a sunflower field . . .”

  I laughed lightly.

  “Or kiss someone,” he said, and I stopped breathing. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

  “My mom taught me.”

  “She must be an excellent teacher.”

  “Yeah, she . . . she was.” I wanted to lie—to tell him that my parents had divorced and my mom lived in Tucson. It wasn’t often that I had to tell people that Mom was gone, and even now, five years later, it was excruciating for my mouth to form the words.

  “She . . .” I shifted in my seat, as if being more comfortable would make the words less bitter. “Five years ago, she . . .” I still couldn’t say it. But I didn’t need to.

  Sensing my struggle, he whispered, “I’m sorry,” and his hand fell on mine with ease. “How?”

  Dad had explained it to me so many times after she died, like he never wanted me to forget the reason she was gone. “She’d had diabetes since she was a kid, so she had problems with her kidneys.” I paused, knowing the most bitter part of the explanation was next. “She wasn’t supposed to have kids. Her doctor told her not to.”

  “But she had you anyway?”

  “Yeah. I think I was . . . unexpected.”

  Thomas kept his eyes on me, but I looked away. I didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it meant feeling it—the guilt of knowing that if I weren’t here, she would be.

  He lifted his hand from mine and placed it on the keys. He started playing a song I’d never heard before. It sounded like he played a couple wrong notes, but it was a nice melody.

  “I didn’t know you played,” I said as I watched his big fingers clumsily navigate the keyboard.

  “I don’t.” He smiled. “I only know one song. And as you can see, I don’t make the piano weep. I make it retch.”

  I laughed, and he started to sing along. What he lacked in piano-playing abilities, he made up for with his voice. As his soulful tones filled the room, I practically felt the hearts forming in my pupils. As I listened to the words, a tingly, peaceful feeling washed over me like a cool stream, leaving water in my eyes.

  “Where did you learn that song?” I asked as he continued playing.

  “From my mom. It’s one of her favorites. It seems to help her when she’s feeling sad about things.”

  I put my right hand on the upper keys and started playing along with him. “Sing it again. I want to hear the words.” And I wanted to hear his voice again.

  “I will, if you play another song for me. And if I can sit next to you while you play.”

  Before I could reply, I heard Dad’s truck rumbling down the driveway. I unconsciously shot a panicked glance at Thomas and jumped off the bench. I slammed the cover shut and grabbed his hand, yanking it toward the door.

  “Come on—we need to get out of here,” I said with urgency.

  He followed me out of the room, confusion and alarm flashing across his face.

  “What’s going on?”

  I locked and shut the parlor door. “My dad can’t know we were in the parlor, okay?” I said, trying to suppress the desperation in my voice.

  “What?” He peered out the living room window, but Dad had already driven around to the back of the house. “Why not?” He glanced back at me, puzzlement cinching his brow.

  “He’s coming in now.” I grabbed the trail maps from the side table. “Please—just don’t say anything about the piano.” I scurried away from the parlor door and sat on the couch, patting the spot next to me firmly for him to sit down.

  “But why?” He moseyed over to the couch and sat next to me.

  “Please, Thomas.”

  “Will you explain later?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. We weren’t in the parlor. I didn’t hear you play rapturous music.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.

  “Thank you,” I breathed. Opening a trail map, I launched into a description of one of the trails and tried to appear calm as I heard the back door swing open. Dad came directly to the living room, and when he saw us on the couch, his expression turned surprised.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, standing and gesturing to Thomas. “This is Thomas, our new neighbor.”

  Thomas stood and offered his hand. “Hello, Mr. Kinsley.”

  Dad came over, took his hand, and then, smiling, said, “You Frank’s grandson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dad released his hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry to hear about your grandpa. He was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was. Thank you.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” Dad said. “You’re the first person Aria’s brought home in years. And here I thought she’d get through high school without making any friends.” He meant to tease, but his words hurt.

  “Aria was just showing me some trail maps.” Thomas gestured to the open map in my hands.

  “You hunt?”

  “I fish, but I’ve yet to move on to bigger game.”

  “You should try Rampart.” Dad pointed to the three-foot rainbow trout mounted above the television. “It’s where I caught that beauty right there.” Dad plunged into the story of how he’d caught the fish, a story I’d heard him tell a dozen times. I watched the way his hands moved and his eyes lit up with the enthusiasm of a zealous fisherman telling his story. It made me happy to see him this way, cheerful and sober. “I’m going to Rampart tomorrow morning with a couple buddies,” he said. “You’re welcome to come with me if you want.”

  Thomas glanced at me as if looking for permission. I smiled and shrugged, and Thomas turned back to Dad. “Sure. School’s out tomorrow, so that sounds great. Can Aria come too?”

  Dad eyed me with raised eyebrows. “You want to come, Aria?”

>   It had been years since Dad had taken me fishing. It used to be one of my favorite things to do, but after he banned me from the piano, I stopped going with him so that I could spend the time in the parlor. “Sure,” I said, willing to give up a few hours of piano time in exchange for spending time with Thomas.

  “Well, I better get home,” Thomas said. “I told my dad I’d clean up the orchard this weekend, and if we’re going fishing, I’d better get a head start.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, handing him the trail map. “You can return this to me then.”

  He took it, a small, intimate smile crossing his lips and touching his eyes. I couldn’t help but notice Dad studying us from the corner of my eye. “Tomorrow,” Thomas said, then he turned to Dad. “I’ll see you bright and early.”

  six

  Early Friday morning, Dad woke me up with a hand on my shoulder. “Aria, wake up.”

  I stretched and yawned, opening my eyes halfway in the dark room. “Is it time to get up already?”

  “Listen, I got called into work. I should be back in the afternoon, but we’ll have to go fishing another time.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled and closed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep.

  “I need to leave right now, so I need you to get dressed and go tell Thomas that we won’t be going.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Why can’t you just call?”

  “I don’t have their number. Besides, it’s too early to call. I don’t want to wake up his parents. Just get dressed and run over there.”

  “Can’t you just stop there on your way to work?”

  “Just do it, Aria,” he said firmly. “I need to leave now or I’ll be late.”

  I staggered out of bed, and Dad walked out. A few seconds later I heard the back door shut and Dad’s truck roar to life. I flipped on the light and shuffled to the closet, debating how dressed up I should get to deliver my message. Unsure if he was already waiting for us and not wanting to make him wait longer than necessary, I threw a green hoodie over my T-shirt and pulled on some jeans and sneakers. I stopped in the bathroom to brush my teeth and tie my hair into a ponytail.