Mr. Nobody Special Collection | Carve the pumpkin – Part 1

Author’s note

This is the first part of a third (and possibly last) short story linked to one of the longer stories on this blog, “Mister Nobody”. It belongs to the same storyline. Therefore, if you haven’t read that story first, you might hardly understand the hows and whys of what is going on here. You can find the list of the chapters by clicking here. 

I hope you will enjoy this short interlude that takes place right before the final chapter, “Home”.

I am still aware many of the readers might not be that interested in this storyline any longer, but I am especially fond of it and there were still a few possibilities I wanted to explore. And since it’s Halloween and all, this was a nice interlude for me.

Thanks for reading and especially to those who take their time to comment. It means a lot to any author.

Carve the pumpkin – Part 1

Ròs House – Musselburgh, Scotland – October 31st, 2018

The tip of his tongue trapped between his front teeth, Michael squinted his eyes and cocked his head as the blade entered the hard, orange skin of the pumpkin. It was such a lovely specimen, too – perfect size, perfect shape – and he was going to commit to its decoration fully. He wanted the kids to find the big, carved pumpkin on the patio the next morning… right after Halloween.

They already had placed several Jack-O-Lanterns all around the mansion, and he had been more than happy to help Harper and Finley both with the designing and carving of different styles, subjects and facial expressions. However, they had started their Halloween decorations a little too early and this autumn had been pretty tricky, even for the Scottish standards. The warm temperatures just wouldn’t let up, the breeze coming from the sea was invigorating but not really cold yet, and as a result, a few of the less sturdy Halloween lanterns had already started to turn into a mess.

Together with Lisa, the twins had decided to give a name to each of the six pumpkins they had decorated so far: Albert, Edward, Max, Harry, James and Ezechiel. Lisa’s feminist side had protested: why were the pumpkins all male? The girls had been unable to give a proper answer, and Michael’s macho side had celebrated for a little while: for once, the guys in the house were not the minority! What about that?

It had not lasted long, though, thanks to that exceptionally sunny October.

At the current time, dryness had started to occur all around Albert’s teeth. Edward’s smile had begun to shrivel. Some mold had appeared all over Max’s grinning face. James was turning a little brown on the inside and looked very, very depressed. Harry was not well either – it, or he, leaked like what the twins called “disgusting stinky stuff.” So far, Ezechiel was the only one still pretty much OK, probably because it – or he – had been placed in the most ventilated area of the garden.

But all in all the situation was not good, and since the kids wanted to keep celebrating Halloween until the end of the week, something had to be done about the pumpkins. Especially because Harper and Finley had finally managed to warm up to their stepfather, and he did not want to let them down.

The twins had moved from Los Angeles to Scotland a few months earlier, after Lisa had finally been able to finalize her divorce and custody agreement, and the first weeks had been… not so great in the step-parenting department. The two little girls had been adamant: they barely knew Michael – or Ethan, as of course they referred to him – and he was not their dad. Which he never intended to be, anyway. Therefore, he could not tell them what to do. Which was fine, too, in a way. Michael didn’t aim at replacing their father, as much as he loathed the guy who had created such havoc in Lisa’s life. But he certainly wanted to be a good stepdad.

That was why he had decided to carve this magnificent, huge pumpkin, in the hope to surprise the twins. The seventh pumpkin. He loved the number seven. Yes, he was a bit rusty in the carving department, but he still had the whole night ahead to get it right. And as this hell of a hectic day that was finally coming to an end, he definitely needed to relax. Since so much had changed about him, but not his utter inability to just lie down and fall asleep, he now sat at the wide kitchen island, a small serrated knife in his hand, his reading glasses on, cutting out the elaborated, complex design he had previously outlined all over the pumpkin’s skin.

And yet, despite being intensely focused on his task, he heard Lisa’s steps the moment she entered the kitchen. Without even turning to look at her, he knew she was leaning against the counter, and that she was staring at him. He could almost physically feel the heat of her eyes on his back. The house – finally empty and quiet – acted virtually as a magnifier, enhancing the emotional weight of her presence.

Lisa let a few moments just go by before speaking.

“I just wanted to let you know, oh master of the house, that all the minors on the premises are asleep…”

“Uh-uhm… Finally, I’d add.”

“Yeah…” She chuckled. Another minute of silence, and then…

“On a side note… You look good in suspenders.”

Michael kept his eyes fixed on the pumpkin and grinned.

“Thank you. You look amazing in that sexy-ass dress I’m sure you still have on.”

He heard her low laugh and his grin became a full-blown smile.

The twins had dressed up in a costume, obviously, and six-month-old Kellan had been put into a cute Jack Skellington outfit, while Lisa and Michael had just preferred to keep it simple, wearing something appropriate for the celebrations without looking like middle-aged loons. In Michael’s case, it was a dark blue shirt contrasted with dark, gunmetal-grey pants and matching suspenders and tie… at least at the beginning, because now, hours later, the tie was gone, his shirt was half-unbuttoned over his ever-present white t-shirt and his sleeves were rolled up.

For her part, Lisa had turned into an erotic dream come true – at least as far as Michael was concerned – with her unearthly vintage-inspired outfit that made her look like a femme fatale. Cast in a refined, impeccable burgundy red velvet dress that wrapped itself all around her perfect curves, with that sexy V-neckline and those long sleeves, she still looked flawless even after all those hours. Makeup, hair, everything. And she knew she looked good. She also knew why: love, and happiness, did that to people. They took away years – and all the bad they had brought with them; tears, pain, loneliness. They pulverized time.

“You think?” She stared at his broad shoulders from behind and leaned her back further against the kitchen counter. Did he have any idea how beautiful he was to her? Still? Always?

Michael gave a vague, nonchalant shoulder-shrug.

“Well, you always look good all over, so…”

And yet he didn’t turn. Was he playing hard to get, with that cocky attitude and that deep voice? Sexy shithead…

Lisa decided that two could play that game, and kept observing him as he carved his precious pumpkin, apparently unbothered by her presence. His big, strong hands were working the surface of the squash plant as if it were the skin of a woman. Something stirred in her belly… how unsurprising.

“So… what do you think about my interview?”

Oh, right… The interview. Michael granted her another shoulder-shrug.

“Can’t say, you know… I was busy changing diapers, running after the twins to make sure they would not hurt themselves around the fountain… checking on our impressive collection of Jack-O-Lanterns outside… and all that stuff…”

“So you were basically busy babysitting, huh?” Lisa kept her laugh at bay. OK, now he was also being a goofball, and she loved him like that. She loved him when he was carefree and quirky and funny and goofy. Even more so than usual… which was already unmeasurable.

“Pretty much, yeah… Since my wife was not paying any attention to me… and was being all glamorous and shit around those journalists, instead…”

Lisa snorted. “So dramatic… A journalist. Singular.”

“And a photographer.”

“Still… Incorrect statement.”

“Details…”

Michael rotated on his stool until he faced her. He removed his glasses and put them into the pocket of his shirt, his movements slow and deliberate, then stared at her.

“Are you here to watch or talk? Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

His face was serious, but his eyes were laughing at her.

Lisa inhaled a deep breath.

“Well… You know I don’t only like watching. But again, it all depends on what you’re doing…”

His eyes seemed to turn even darker than they usually were. Darker than the deepest universe.

“I’m carving.”

“I know.” She kept her tone neutral. “You’re good at that. You’re good at… cutting into solid materials with even… harder stuff… It reminds me of-”

“Lisa…” He admonished her. “You’re so bad…”

This time his mischievous smile reappeared and she had to chuckle. Unable to keep up the charade any longer, she walked over to him and he immediately held his hand out. She took it, allowing him to pull her closer, until he could grab her by the waist and make her sit on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, then leaned over, finding his soft, warm lips, kissing him slowly and savoring the moment.

It was the first moment they could spend alone since that early morning, when they had woken up together – almost like every morning. Finally some quality time. She never had enough of that… not in the past, so many years earlier, and not since his return. Not from the afterlife, but from the hiding place he had been living into, after leaving his old life behind. And even now, about two years later – after their reunion, their wedding, and their baby – she still could not entirely believe it was real. That he was there. Michael – with her. Where he was supposed to be all along. Occupying that void that had killed her inside during his absence, filling it, nourishing it and bringing it back to life. It was a charm – but also so real. And in such a magical night, the emotions Michael’s mere presence evoked were even stronger.

Lisa’s hands slid from his strong shoulders to his face, her fingers stroking his bearded cheeks, then landing into his short, curly hair. She spoke against his lips, in a whisper.

“I love you, Michael. And I missed you today.”

A few hours earlier

The reporter from People magazine glanced around the property, mouth agape. She was young, probably not even thirty, and quite cute. Lisa was happy the editorial staff had decided to send over what looked like a not too seasoned journalist, for the interview. Someone who might not try to intersperse apparently innocent questions with more intrusive controversies about her personal life… or her family.

Kellan, Lisa and Michael’s baby, had become quite the focus of the press since the wedding, when a couple of paps had been able to sneak into the estate and take a few pictures of the newborn. And then it had happened again on a few occasions, while she and Michael were in town with the baby, and the rumors had started.

It was inevitable.

The gorgeous baby boy with the same aqua eyes that her mom sported also showed what was becoming an increasingly striking resemblance with one of Lisa’s previous husbands. Her most important one. And definitely the most famous one on a global level. A man who had been dead to the world for a few years now but who, in fact, was very much alive. Only, with a different age, appearance, and identity.

Lisa and Michael’s strategy about the rumors surrounding their brand new biological child had been very simple from the get-go: ignore the buzz. Let people think whatever they prefer. Let them make up theories and imagine different scenarios. It was all up to the audience and the media, but not about their family at all. What happened outside their little world did not matter that much.

So, when Lisa had accepted to be interviewed by the magazine, in her own home of all places, she had been very clear about the topics she was not going to engage in. Theoretically speaking, the reporter from People was there to talk to Lisa about her upcoming new album, and since Lisa was not going to leave her Musselburgh mansion, she and her photographer had met her there, in Scotland. On the late morning of October, 31th – on Halloween.

The reporter, Claire Dumas, was currently looking around the huge garden leading to the main mansion in absolute awe. She glanced at the beautiful pathway of flowers that Michael and Marcus, the gardener, had worked on the previous summer, then at the amazing Halloween decorations punctuating the well-maintained gravel path that led to the main house.

“This is such a wonderful estate, Lisa Marie… I get why you’re not planning to go back to Los Angeles anytime soon…”

Lisa smiled.

“Thank you. Actually, we don’t plan on leaving Scotland ever again. I do fly to Memphis several times a year, because of my father, but my life is here now. My husband and I can manage our businesses from here. My younger babies live here with us on a permanent basis, and even Riley and Benjamin come over pretty often… They too love this place. We all do.”

“I don’t see how you could not.” Claire smiled back at her, then looked around once again. “Where’s the rest of your family, by the way?”

“They are probably inside.” Ever so slightly, Lisa motioned to the right. “Come with me? I would like to show you the recording studio we set up here…”

“Sure! That would be great. And maybe you can also let us hear something?”

“Maybe…” Lisa felt a bit shy at the idea of some strangers listening to her new music, and it didn’t matter that about half of it was actually cover songs. She still wrote and sang mainly for herself, but her record company had been very clear: she needed to put her face in the promotion of her upcoming album, and she had to ride the wave of the interest that her personal life had been generating.

“Oh, by the way, is it true that there’s also a dance studio in the mansion?”

Lisa shrugged her shoulders, nonchalantly. “Well, the previous owners were professional dancers, so they had one built inside the mansion and it’s still there. But we turned it into a gym for my husband and me.”

Yeah. The gym that Michael also used as a dance studio, sometimes. Still. But Claire and her photographer didn’t need to know that. Because Ethan Murphy didn’t like dancing at all.

As they walked toward the back entrance to the recording studio, they heard the twins’ laughter and they all turned around. Harper and Finley were now in the garden, running and playing tag around the fountain. And Michael was there too, obviously, supervising them and making sure all was fine. Wearing his baby-carrier and all, Kellan secured against his chest and very much awake.

“Oh my God… there they are!” Claire gushed. The photographer immediately took some pictures, but Lisa was not that worried. Michael had reassured her: he was sure of his game, and the press had known Ethan’s face for quite some time now. Nothing bad was going to happen. Nobody would look at Ethan and think about Michael Joe Jackson. Plus, the photographer had not been using any telephoto lens, which meant that what he was shooting were not close-ups. The kids and Michael were still quite far away.

“Lisa Marie… Do you think we can say hello to your husband and kids?”

Lisa fidgeted for a moment. If she said no, it would sound suspicious and probably attract even more attention. If she said yes, she would risk more inopportune questions. What was she supposed to do? Well… Maybe she should just trust Michael. And his ability to play the game. He was a master of that, after all.

Almost as if he had sensed her discomfort, Michael turned his head and looked at her for a moment. Then he grinned that classic Ethan-smile, so very unlike Michael’s, and waved his hand. Stunning her, he started walking in their direction. And his walk, too, was so unlike Michael’s.

“Well, apparently you can… He’s coming over.” Lisa glanced at the photographer. “But no close-up pictures, OK? We don’t have a deal about that. We’re here to talk about business, not to have a photo-op of my family.”

Without a word, the photographer turned off his Reflex. Good boy.

“Good morning…” Michael stopped a few steps away from the small group and his hand came up, resting on Kellan’s back protectively. The baby squealed in his baby-carrier and kicked his chubby legs.

“Hello, Mister Murphy… Can I call you Ethan?” Claire stepped closer and Michael held out his hand.

“Sure. Welcome to our house.”

The next five minutes were full of pleasantries and triviality. Michael, as expected, was flawless in his interpretation. Different voice, different looks, different accent, different body language and disposition. He was courteous although not very talkative, merely explaining that he was taking care of the kids as Lisa did “her thing.” Whatever that meant. That he loved his wife’s music but was more interested in other things – and that was why he worked in a completely different field. Art dealing. Which was more about money than art in itself.

Albeit used to it at this point, even Lisa was still somehow amazed by the role he played. He was so believable. As she observed him, once again she remembered how she, too, had managed to fall for that deception, when Michael had first reconnected with her, two years earlier. And yet, at the same time, she had been able to find out what was beneath the surface. She had felt in her heart that it was him. She had seen it in almost subtle details that were anything but obvious. Mainly because, when your way of looking at him changed, you could see who Ethan really was. She was so glad nobody seemed inclined to do that, though.

Michael was right: somehow, hiding in plain sight was the best way to stay put.

Anyway, it soon became clear that Claire Dumas was fascinated by him, and that was not surprising either. Michael or Ethan – they both had the same effect on people. A man’s aura could not change, it didn’t matter how hard he tried. But his confident attitude and behavior, and his almost decade-long experience in what he referred to as “the most important performance of his new life” paid off. It was apparent that the reporter did not see any trace of MJ in Lisa’s “new husband.”

Kellan, on the other hand… Well, Kellan was different. At six months of age, his appearance had already changed so much. He still looked like a perfect, chubby cherub, but the resemblance was there, and it was becoming quite noticeable. He was as doe-eyed as Michael, but the color of his irises was now identical to Lisa’s. His mouth, too, resembled so much that of his mother. While his curly, dark hair and complexion undoubtedly identified him as a bi-racial baby. In a world where his father was erroneously perceived as white.

“He is… such a gorgeous baby…” Claire stared at Kellan, who was very much alert, and then her eyes moved from him, to Michael, to Lisa. The reporter bit her lip. “He is…”

“Very active, as you can see.” Michael grinned, freezing whatever observation she was going to let slip.

The young woman blushed, perhaps realizing how inopportune her words might sound.

“…That’s right.” She sighed and smiled at Lisa. “So… will you let us listen to some of your new songs?”

“Sure…” Lisa gently touched the woman’s elbow and pointed at the studio once again. Time for a diversion tactic. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely!” Claire stepped back from the baby.

“Alright then… Bye, honey. I see you later.” Flawlessly seizing the moment, Michael kissed Lisa on the lips and then simply strolled back to the fountain, waving his hand one last time.

“Bye, baby.”

The quick walk to the studio was accompanied by a few seconds of awkward silence. Then Claire decided to break the ice again.

“Ethan seems very nice.”

“He’s adorable…” Lisa tucked a strand of her long hair behind her ear and pushed the soundproof door open.

“But not very interested in your music…”

“He is… but just a little bit. Music is… ah, not really his thing. He likes blues, though…” Well, he did. Among other genres. That at least was true.

“Does he dance?”

Lisa glanced back at the journalist, repressing a chuckle.

“He hates dancing.”

She hoped that was the last big, fat lie she was going to say for today.

A couple of hours later, Lisa finally said goodbye to her guests and, as she waved her goodbye while their little van moved outside the property, she felt suddenly lighter. It had been nothing but talking, really, and yet she was exhausted. She had never liked being in the spotlight. She didn’t like talking to strangers and especially journalists and, in fact, she was quite shy. For a very long time, Lisa had hidden her insecurities and extreme gentleness behind a hard, strong, assertive facade. She was a strong woman, yes, but not the way she projected on the outside. Her strength, which had changed, morphed and matured through the years, was the kind you could hardly perceive through an interview or a videotape. And yet it was there.

All in all, she was pretty satisfied with herself. She had given precise and specific answers to what she wanted to be out there for everyone to know and, at the same time, she had been able to dodge the most potentially dangerous questions. Those that could have led people to speculate a little too much, investigate a little too much, ask for a little too much.

“Did you and Michael Jackson ever record anything together…”

Lisa had smiled at Claire.

“I’m not going to answer any of that…”

“Is MJ still an off-limits subject for you?”

She had stared into space for a moment.

“It’s not even about him. It’s just… There’s so much he has done throughout his career. If he had wanted to release anything, he would have done it. The fact that he hasn’t, speaks volumes…”

“So you’re saying that there’s maybe something unfinished somewhere?”

“I am not saying anything, really. Like I said, I’m not going to reply to this line of questions.”

“OK… I apologize for overstepping, Lisa Marie.”

“It’s fine. Shall we carry on? I would like to show you a couple of things we have planned.”

Good job! Now that she thought about it, she was totally proud of herself. Miss Dumas had backed off instantly, deciding not to push it. She had quickly understood that Lisa’s eagerness to talk could only go so far. And eventually, she had realized that her boundaries were more than clear.

From that moment on, everything had gone down quite smoothly. As Lisa spoke about her new album, her new songs, and the cover songs she had decided to include in it, she was low-key amused by the fact that, indeed, some songs recorded by her and Michael, as a duet, did in fact exist. They had fooled around in the studio – in more ways than one – while they were married the first time, but even recently they had started to play with some music again. Late at night, when nobody was there and it was only the two of them. But whatever they recorded in their private studio, in their private home, was only their business and it was never intended to become public. It was just foolery. Nice, pleasurable clowning around. Nothing professional.

It all had started by pure chance, a few months earlier. Lisa was in the recording studio one night, rehearsing a couple of songs, when suddenly she had realized that Michael was sitting at the mixing board in the control room. Turning knobs, moving levers, fixing levels. Doing the stuff she had seen him do for years. As she kept singing, her eyes fixed on him, taking him the years that had passed – changing him from a merely physical point of view, and not at all in a bad way – and, at the same time, the exactness of the expression on his face. He looked focused, committed. Some things always stayed the same.

She had stopped mid-song. Headphones still on, speaking in the microphone.

“…So? What you think?”

He had looked up. His short hair wild, no glasses, wearing a white V-neck t-shirt and jammies. Classic. He had seemed to ponder over her words, then he had scratched his chin. She had felt the raspy noise of his fingers running through his beard in her earphones.

“I think you’re doing great, baby…”

A sudden, subtle thought crawled into Lisa’s mind. She had spoken without really thinking.

“I’m not sure… There’s this part right here… There’s just something about it…” She had let her words linger.

Michael had just stared at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to say it. I just think it’s not working.”

Some more staring on his part. He was trying to assess her game. He had bitten his lip and Lisa had gone in for the kill. Her heart was drumming like crazy in her chest, and she didn’t even know why.

“Hey… why don’t you show me? I mean… if you want… How would you do it, Mike?”

He had cocked his head to a side. Chewing on the inside of his cheek. Thinking again. Then, without a word, he had gotten up and had opened the door to the recording room. He had closed it behind his back and had walked over to Lisa, all the while grabbing another set of headphones and putting them on.

Pushing a button on the control board inside the room, he had started the backing track again. He looked focused, but his face was a bit flushed. Yes, Michael still sang. While he was busy drawing, or in the shower, or sometimes playfully, to Lisa, when he wanted to be funny and seductive. Never professionally. Not anymore.

And that night, it was not that Lisa had wanted him to do something he no longer felt comfortable doing. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had noticed how interested he looked while she worked, and how sometimes it seemed like he was repressing the urge to say something. It was so cute. And probably so frustrating for him… he would always look caught in between the desire to sing and the desire to let go of that part of his old life, forever. Just like he had done with so many things that used to make him, him.

But that night, in the privacy of their recording studio, he had looked relaxed and comfortable enough for her to ask him. To ask him if he wanted to share this moment with her.

So many years earlier, Lisa had loved living that same experience with him. In another lifetime. She had been so different, back then. So shy. Totally inexperienced. Bashful in his presence, when he had dismissed his husband persona and had become the artist. Now… well, she was still shy. She was still in awe, full of admiration. And so full of love for this man to whom the world had acted so cruelly, so unjustly, to the point that he had felt forced to hide. And yet he had remained the same somehow, nonetheless.

And just like that, they had sung together. A little hesitantly at first, and then with increasing ease and comfort. Sharing something they both loved. Reveling in the music. In that intimate moment. In each other’s presence and in the trust that permeated their newfound relationship. At one point, as she sang her part, Lisa had reached out and had taken his hand, interlacing her fingers with his.

“Tell her you’re mine
That you have been blind
Tell her it’s over
And you belong to me

Tell me to come
And like hell I will run
Back into your arms
‘Cause you belong to me

There’s a river on my skin
There’s a dragon in the dark
Nothing scares me more
Than the silence of your heart”

During the following interlude, they had just stared at each other, smiling lightly. And then it had been his turn to pronounce the words she had heard in her mind… sung by his voice. Slightly deeper and raspier than she remembered, but as mesmerizing and perfect as it always had been.

“If you wanna hold me
If you wanna know me again
If you wanna love me
Then take me home
I’ve been at the bottom
The deep end of the ocean
Barely surviving by the dark side of her street
Tell him you belong to me

He’ll never kiss you
The way that I miss you
What kind of lies does he tell you
Inside of the dark
He’ll never win
‘Cause I’m not giving in
You are my woman
You belong to me…”

Those words, that song, written by someone else for once, had acted as the umpteenth seal for their love.

But all in all, yeah, it was nothing but innocent nonsense. Music played for their pleasure only, and definitely nothing to share with the rest of the world… or a reporter, for that matter.

Quietly, Lisa walked back to the main mansion, where she knew the kids were busy celebrating Halloween with a few friends, under the supervision of Michael, Miss Emma – their cook – and Denise, the babysitter.

When she stepped into the foyer, the noise was loud enough to reverberate on the entire ground floor. What the hell was going on?

Lisa entered the living room and found herself right in the middle of a colorful, joyful and pretty agitated party held by about a dozen of ten-year-olds dressed like… anything, really. Superheroes. Or superheroines. Or whatever. Witches. Magicians. Monsters. And some other things she could not quite figure out. The music was deafening – the perfect Halloween compilation blasted at a ridiculous volume.

Denise, the young babysitter, was busy in what was considered a staple of children’s Halloween parties across the country: dookin’ for apples, which mainly involved trying to grab apples floating in a tub of water using your mouth. Miss Emma was running around like crazy, dispensing sweets of all kinds and – in all honesty – she looked a bit flustered by the commotion. The kids were totally on a sugar high.

Michael sat on a chair at the huge table, just supervising the situation, like an admiral. Only milder. Still laughing at the kids’ antics, he turned his head and noticed Lisa leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded over her chest, looking perplexed and amused in equal parts.

He rose from the chair and walked over to her, kissing her softly on the lips. He spoke right into her ear, trying to contrast the loud version of “Scooby Doo Where Are You” currently playing.

“Don’t worry! They’re wrapping up the party and hopefully their parents will be over in an hour or so!”

“Yeah, hopefully!” Lisa screamed against the noise, then she laughed, her arms coming around his neck as she hugged him and they moved together to the music. She pulled his head down and spoke into his ear, all the while keeping her hand entangled in his hair. “Where’s Kellan?”

“Taking a nap! I just checked on him… he’s out like a light!”

“Where’s the baby monitor?”

“In my back pocket!”

She gave him another quick peck on the lips.

“You’re the perfect dad… Oh, by the way, did they play Thriller?”

Michael backed off enough to show her his smug expression.

“Well, obviously!” Then he spoke against her ear again, his voice playful… and a bit conspiratorial. “They tried the dance moves too… and they were pretty good… With my guidance.”

As she smiled at him, it occurred to her that listening to that song, or any of his songs, really, would no longer be painful now. Not like it had been during the years when she had thought he was gone forever. She still remembered when she had to leave a party because his voice had come off the speakers all of a sudden, singing that song, as she danced. Haunting her, cutting her open. How bad she had felt. How utterly and totally desperate and lonely. How far away the only place she wanted to be was. Home. Wherever he was. Home with him. Into his arms.

Swallowing, she held him close again, her face resting against his chest as he slowly moved to the music. She moved with him, as if they were alone. Even through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel his warmth. Alive, vibrant.

Lisa closed her eyes.

Soundtrack