My lungs ached as I lugged broken instruments outside; when the snow thawed, maybe Armande or Orrin would help me separate materials for recycling. But now, I just needed them out of the house. If the sight of them hurt my heart, Sam’s must be shattered.
To keep him busy for a while, I brought up more tea and soup. The other mug and bowl were only half- empty, but that was better than nothing.
“You should shower.” I sat next to him on the bed. “You stink.” As if I didn’t smell like sweat, too.
“Doesn’t matter.” That wasn’t Sam’s voice. At least not the Sam I knew. Too rough, shredded into black ribbons. “It’s all gone.”
I wanted to touch him, hug him close, but my muscles wouldn’t budge when I tried. “Finish your food and shower. I’ll come back up in a little while.”
Though Stef’s house was usually only a five-minute walk, it took longer in the snow, and I was shivering when I arrived. Her place had the same outbuildings and snow-frosted fruit trees as Sam’s, but was sparser, as she didn’t garden or keep animals herself but helped tend Sam’s in exchange for a share.
I took the steps two at a time and banged on the door.
Wind rattled evergreens, making a loose board on a shed bang in a staccato tempo. Otherwise, the place was silent, waiting for more snow.
Either she wasn’t home, or she was avoiding me after the fight she’d had with Sam. I bit my lip and tried the doorknob. It turned.
I’d only been in her house a few times. When it was her turn for giving me lessons, she hadn’t wanted to lug over the equipment for teaching basic machine repair; we’d started with water pumps and ended with solar panels. Mostly she went to Sam’s if they wanted to visit.
Before I lost my nerve, I pulled open the door and stepped inside and stomped snow from my boots.
Sunlight streamed through the parlor windows, glowing across the hardwood floor, landing on the small piano pressed against one wall. While Sam’s walls were delicate shelves, most of Stef’s were made of bookcases stuffed with notes and diagrams on fascinating subjects like automatic recycling machines.
“Stef?” I slipped around the chairs and sofa, with faded, patched upholstery and blankets thrown across the backs. She had more rooms on the first floor than Sam, most of them filled with inventions in various stages of completion. The stairs were hidden away in a corner, leading to the equally packed second story.
Floorboards creaked under my weight. I listened for any noises other than my own—nothing—and crept around the house, finding a library, a washroom, and a bedroom. Like Sam, she was usually male, but she didn’t keep separate bedrooms for male and female incarnations. She just tossed her extra things in trunks for a lifetime, so now her bedroom was filled with dresses.
I started to leave, but a familiar photograph caught my attention. Hating myself for the intrusion, I looked closer. The photo I’d recognized was of two men, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, both smiling. That was Sam and Stef in their previous lifetimes. Other photos on the shelf were new to me, but I recognized some of Sam’s previous incarnations. Sometimes he was alone, but most of the time he was with another person. Stef, I assumed.
Next to the photos rested a stack of papers: letters in Sam’s handwriting, written while he was on trips and saved up until he returned to Heart to deliver them. I skimmed only a couple of them, loathing myself as I did because they were private, but they only talked about places he was going and things he saw that she might like.
There were a lot of them.
The last photograph was of the Sam I knew, sly smile and dark, messy hair. I recognized the shirt, too; I’d helped him choose it during a summer market day. For a moment, I thought she must have taken it while I was trapped inside the temple. Surprising that he let her, because he hated being photographed.
But his head was turned and one arm was outstretched. He held a smaller hand in his. Mine. My hand was the only part of me in the picture.
I stepped away.
Half of me expected Stef to appear in the hallway and demand to know what I was doing, but the house remained quiet. Feeling confused and betrayed and jealous, I left the room.
I’d known they had history. I’d even seen photos from previous lifetimes where he was kissing someone. It bothered me, but sometimes I could imagine those Sams weren’t
She loved him. I couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t. It was the intensity of her feelings I hadn’t anticipated.
“How hurt does someone need to be to do something desperate?” I whispered, then felt sick. Stef would never hurt Sam like that. She might antagonize him, try to convince him that our relationship was improper. But she would never destroy what Sam loved most. Never.
“I’m sorry,” I said, even though she wasn’t here to hear it. It had been a petty, jealous thought, and I scrubbed my hands over my face as though I could wipe it away.
Time to go home. I went outside, finding sunlight had dimmed as gray clouds covered the sky, ready to drop more snow.
I shivered with winter chill by the time I opened the door to Sam’s house again. The parlor was still a wreck, and the upstairs was quiet. Hopefully he was sleeping.
Fending off tears, I found a large bin and continued throwing away unsalvageable pieces of Sam’s instruments. Any time the bin got heavy, I carried it outside and dumped it out with the rest.
When I couldn’t stand any more, I climbed upstairs to shower and change into something not covered in sweat and dirt and splintered memories of a hundred broken instruments. Outside, snow fell heavy and white and wet.
It was almost night by the time I called Stef’s SED. No answer. Nothing from Cris, either. Where could they be? Worry gnawed deeper; I tried Sarit.
“Hey, Ana.”
“Thank goodness.” I slumped to the sofa, relief like a waterfall through me. “You’re there.”
“Yeah, freezing my tail off. Cris didn’t answer his door yesterday morning, and there weren’t enough blue roses in the greenhouse. I’m on my way to Purple Rose to see if I can salvage any from there. You owe me. A hundred concerts, at least. Write a song for me while you’re at it, cricket.”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “With this snow, they’re probably already gone.
Just come home.” She might have been my best friend, but she was also crazy.
“No way. I’m getting those roses for you. I’ll keep them alive with my sunny personality.”
“You’re insane.” I stared around the wreck of a parlor and tried to breathe right. “I’m glad I can get hold of you, though. Stef and Cris aren’t answering. They’re not at home.”
“Cris still isn’t there?” Worry crept into her words.
“His garden is collecting snow. And when Sam and I came back—” My voice caught. I tried again.
“Sarit, someone destroyed the instruments. All of them.”
“Oh.” Her voice softened, deepened. “Oh, Ana. Your flute too?”
“No.” I took a shaky breath. “It was in the workroom. Lorin accidentally popped a wire out, and Sam was going to show me how to fix it.”
“But everything in the parlor…”
I gazed at a length of steel I hadn’t been able to pick up. “Even the piano. Especially the piano.” The words choked me, and my throat tightened with tears.
She didn’t speak.
“And you know about the explosions, right?” When I closed my eyes, I could still see the fire, the smoke. I could still feel Geral’s weight in my arms. “They’re telling me to stop.”
“How do they know what you’re doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” I squeezed the SED, wishing I could tell her about the books, the key, the researcheverything. I could tell her about the fight Sam and I had, and that he’d asked if I wanted to leave, but not right now. Not when she was so far away. “I wish you were here,” I whispered into the SED.
“Me too.” She hesitated. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”
