Chapter 2
Lily
GAbrIEL FAURé — BERCEUSE (FROM THE DOLLY SUITE)
Everything was not over in a few weeks.
In fact, it was not over in a few months, either.
I’ve been in the tower for six months now, and there’s still no sign of being let out anytime soon.
You might be wondering what I’ve been up to. I’m disappointed to report that I still have not mastered the cartwheel. Being upside down is slightly terrifying.
Aunt Agatha lets me order whatever I want from , as long as it isn’t too heavy.
She says the floor can’t handle high amounts of weight in one place, like, you know, an actual piano.
So the tower has become a sort of workshop.
I ordered calligraphy supplies and learned from Amy Carter’s YouTube videos.
My brothers and father have received countless letters from me the old-fashioned way.
I ordered a lightweight sewing machine and fabric and have been sewing some dresses.
I’m still working on figuring out how to make the dresses fit my curves and short frame, but I’m excellent at making them for dolls.
I’ve baked sourdough, first making my own starter, and then countless loaves until I got it right.
I also tried some paint by numbers kits, but those were embarrassing, so instead I ordered an adult coloring book by artist Melody Jeffries.
My latest endeavor is making friendship bracelets.
It started from a deep desire to attend a Taylor Swift concert and has turned into a bit of an obsession.
And I’ve spent a lot of time learning. I take online classes through Silver Lake University, determined to finish my degree.
I’ve also watched about a zillion TED Talks on YouTube.
One of my favorites is from someone named Emma Nazarian, who talks about what it means to be exceptional—highly recommend.
But what haven’t I been doing?
Playing the piano.
I tried Aunt Agatha’s keyboard. There’s no damper pedal, meaning all the notes sound disjointed instead of smooth.
There’s hardly any difference in dynamics, so the pieces are devoid of emotion.
And, of course, I’m missing critical notes on the high and low end of the keyboard.
So then I messed around with the different sound settings and tried to experiment with compositions.
I came up with some cool sci-fi sounding pieces, but composition isn’t my heart’s desire.
I want to play Chopin, Brahms, Debussy, and Liszt.
I want to feel the music in every piece of my soul, for my heart to beat in time with the music, for—
I have to stop myself every time I start down that train of thought. Dwelling on the things I miss is just depressing.
So the keyboard is now just a place to display the picture that Adam gave me of my family.
The one from when I was four years old—a candid shot of our parents and the four of us kids laughing and playing.
The glass is cracked, apparently a casualty of Adam’s fiancée Isabelle, but I love it just the way it is.
Looking at it is a reminder of trying to make my mother proud.
I’ve wondered hundreds of times what she would think if she were here.
Would she agree with keeping me locked up?
I have to think she wouldn’t. But then again, she always wanted the four of us siblings to get along and trust one another.
Her final assignment to my brothers was to watch over me, and Adam feels like he failed at that.
So if staying here and being obedient is the way to honor her memory, I’ll do it.
I focus on what I do have, even if I can’t play the piano.
Aunt Agatha is entertaining company. Henry and Luna come to visit and bring me cookies from the local bakery, Cookies & Kisses.
Adam and Isabelle are busy acting and promoting their movie, but they chat with me often.
Plus, school takes up a lot of brainpower.
Instead of taking the typical twelve units, I loaded myself with twenty, determined to get as much school done as quickly as possible.
At the end of May, I should be done with all the general education classes and can focus only on my piano studies, which would need to be done in person.
All I’m waiting for is the signal from my brothers that it’s safe to leave this tower.
The consultant they hired, Mr. Calhoun, says it still isn’t safe to let me out yet.
He thinks Tristan will try to use any public appearance against me, and that wouldn’t work for our case.
And my brothers are too afraid to question him.
Henry seems eager to let me free, but Adam and Father are more wary and trust Mr. Calhoun’s opinion over anyone else’s.
They don’t want me to make any public appearances while Tristan is pushing the lawsuit.
This morning, I’m sitting at my table, making my latest friendship bracelet with the word ALLEGRO and a bunch of music note beads.
Aunt Agatha knocks on my door, which is really a secret opening behind the bookshelf.
There’s a sconce on either side of the wall with a hidden button that opens the door.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens, and footsteps click and jangle behind me, alerting me to Aunt Agatha’s presence. I turn around to see her in full cowgirl gear, like she’s straight out of the nineteenth century Wild West.
“Hi, Aunt,” I say, stifling a laugh. “I see you’ve started a new book.”
She looks down at her clothes, surprised. “Oh, you noticed? Yes, we’re reading a book all about the Oregon Trail. It’s quite fascinating.” Her thick British accent is a hilarious contrast to her getup, but I don’t dare mock her. She’s too formidable for that.
“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” I reply.
“I have a book club meeting tonight. Hopefully soon you can join me.”
I nod in agreement. I’d love to do anything else.
“This room feels stuffy,” she says, crossing past me to the balcony. “You need fresh air.”
“It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” I ask.
“It’s a nice day for February,” she says. She opens the door, and a cool breeze fills the room, but she’s right. It feels nice.
“What are your plans for today?” she asks.
I shrug a shoulder, dropping a bead with the letter R onto the nylon string. “Making another bracelet for now. I have some homework for my statistics class, then I have to write an essay for English.”
Agatha nods. “I need to go down to the city center to get some vegetables for dinner tonight. How does chicken couscous soup sound?”
“Delicious,” I reply. “We can make it up here together when you get back.”
She walks over to me and runs a hand down my hair. “Soon enough, you’ll be able to come with me.” She leans down and whispers, “If it were up to me, I’d let you out already.”
“I know,” I whisper back, unsure of whom we’re keeping our voices down for. Agatha has made it clear that she doesn’t agree with the men in my family and that she’s going to break me out of here as soon as possible.
“Maybe you can listen to some music today?” Aunt suggests. “How about one of your favorite piano pieces?”
I shake my head. “I get frustrated when the pianist makes different choices than I would. It just makes me want to play even more.”
She twists her lips to the side. “I see.” She snaps her fingers. “I’ve got it! You can make your own piano.”
“I…what?”
She shrugs, like it’s a reasonable suggestion. “Make your own. You know, take some sheets of paper and draw out the keys. You can bang on them like you would at home.”
“Oh. But that wouldn’t make any sound.”
She purses her lips together. “Don’t you have a recording of yourself playing?”
The bracelet stills in my hand. “Yes. I do.”
“Then play the music over the speaker and pretend you’re playing on the piano. It’s the perfect solution.”
I consider that possibility—that’s how desperate I am for music.
The piano feels like an extension of my body.
I’ve been playing ever since I was a little girl, when my hair would touch the seat behind me and we had to set up a stepstool under my feet for proper positioning.
My mother would sit beside me on the bench, humming along to the music I played.
She always loved when I played something called The Robot Song and sang along with me.
Agatha leans down and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
I smile at her, watching her leave, and then turn back to my bracelet.
Alone again.
After another twenty minutes, I slide the bracelet on my wrist and switch to my homework.
Statistics isn’t nearly as bad as business calculus was last year.
I had to retake that course because everything with Tristan happened in the middle of the fall semester, and I had to withdraw from all of my classes while recovering from the fallout.
But my brother Henry tutored me again in the spring, and I was able to pass with flying colors.
Now that I’m in statistics, I can manage it mostly on my own.
Then I pull up my assignment for English. It’s a creative writing course, one I took for fun. This week, the assigned essay has this prompt: Write about a time when you were surprised. Paint the scene, describe your emotions. Remember to make us feel it.
That could be fun. I’m not good at coming up with scenarios on the fly, though, so I’ll need to sit on this one. The assignment isn’t due for a few more days, so I have a window to figure out my scenario. Our instructor has even told us it doesn’t have to be a real story, as long as it feels real.
I look around my room for something to do while brainstorming. I don’t feel like making another bracelet, baking doesn’t sound appealing, and neither does sewing. If I’m being completely honest, all I want to do is play the piano.
A roll of white paper leaning in the corner catches my eye.
I originally bought it when I was going through my calligraphy phase, planning on making a banner for my room.
I could use it to create a makeshift paper piano.
Tossing my enormous braid over my shoulder, I head over to the corner of my room and grab the paper, unrolling it on the floor.
After finding a black marker, I sketch out the keys of the piano—all eighty-eight of them.
Oddly enough, just the sight of the piano keys settles something in my stomach. It’s a weird idea, no doubt, but maybe it’s worth a try.
What’s the worst that could happen?