You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Fourteen

Zayn:

Later that afternoon, when my shift had ended, I changed out of my uniform into jeans and a plain black V-neck T-shirt and searched the gigantic estate for Cesar Castro to talk to him about my situation with Desmond.

Instead of Cesar, I found Marcel, pacing the living room, head down, hands twisting in front of him.

“Hey, Marcel,” I said, reaching out a hand. “You okay?”

He danced out of reach and I backed off.

“Distressing,” he said. “Terribly, terribly distressing.” He glanced up at me sharply, his face blank of expression but his eyes meeting mine, forging a connection that lasted a second, then gone again.

“Mr. Malik, my good man. I do but wonder, have you seen my brother?”

“Not since the pool.”

Marcel shook his head, eyes on the floor, still pacing.

“Distressing. I last found him arguing with Papa after the pool. I couldn’t ascertain the subject of their disagreement. Something to do with appropriate language around the staff. I do hope he hasn’t been sent away again.”

“Sent away?”

I remembered Harry at the NA meeting, talking about how he’d gone away for a while. Again, I wondered if it had been
on a deployment for the military.

Marcel only paced in a tighter circle, his hands twisting over and over.

“Marcel—?”

“Do you play the piano?”

“A little. I took lessons as a kid, but I’m rusty as hell.”

“I shan’t mind in the slightest. Not at all.”

I cocked my head at him. “Would it make you feel better if I played?”

“Harry plays for me when I’m in a bit of a state.”

“I’m nowhere near as good as Harry, but I can give it a shot.”

“Please do,” he said. “I would be much obliged.”

He continued wringing his hands and pacing, while I satbat the baby grand and lifted the lid. I felt like someone who’d
driven a Pinto all his life and was now given the keys to a Maserati.

“Fair warning, it’s been ages.”

“No need to dilly-dally,” Marcel said. “Give it the old college try. There’s a good man.”

I tried to remember one single thing I could play and sounded out the theme to Star Wars on one hand.

“Ah yes, John Williams,” Marcel said after I’d finished.

“Born February 8, 1932, composer and pianist who has scored more than one hundred films, including E.T., Jaws, and Star Wars. But perhaps you have something a little more classic in your repertoire?”

I bit my lip. The highlight of my “repertoire” was “Chopsticks”. The most complicated, two-handed piece I ever played was “The Entertainer” and not very well.

For Marcel’s sake, I plunked out the song, wincing at every error. Which was frequently.

“Oh dear,” Marcel said. “Not very good, I’m afraid.”

I burst out laughing. “You can say that again.”

But Marcel was no longer pacing, and his hands were still. I considered that a victory.