“I’m Cole,” I say, taking his hand. There are some Akhet vibrations between us, but I don’t sense any past connection.
He must feel the same thing, because he smiles broadly. “Nice to meet you. What did you say your name was?” His dark brown eyes are intent on my face.
“Cole,” I repeat, leaning in so he can hear me over the noise in the room.
Frank still looks confused as a slightly younger man joins us, placing a drink on the counter next to him. Frank’s gaze softens as he introduces us. “Ah! This is my husband, Robert.”
We exchange greetings and then Frank turns to Robert, his fingers fluttering through the air, and I suddenly understand. He’s using sign language—Robert must be deaf.
Robert leans toward me, and I’m startled by his clear speaking voice. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Cole,” I repeat.
“Cole,” he says with a smile. “That’s nice.” He turns to Frank and makes some deliberate gestures, and suddenly Frank’s face breaks into a smile.
“Cole!” he says, turning toward me. “Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t get that at first.”
I look from Robert to Frank as they grin at each other. “I’m sorry,” Frank says to me. “I’m deaf. I thought you knew.”
“No, I didn’t.” I’m a little flustered and glance at Drew, who just shrugs like he didn’t know either. “It’s okay, though.” The minute I say it, I squeeze my eyes shut. What a stupid thing to say.
Frank nods with a smile. “It is. I contracted measles when I was a baby in this lifetime and have been profoundly deaf ever since. I’m usually good at reading lips.” He tilts his head at me. “But every now and then a beautiful name trips me up.”
Robert gestures to an open table and taps Frank on the elbow. “Shall we sit down?” he says, making sure Frank is watching him as he speaks.
“Let’s,” Frank says, grabbing his drink and leading us to the table. “I hear you’re quite an accomplished cellist,” he says to me as we sit down.
I look at Drew, wondering how much he said. “Was,” I correct. “I don’t play much anymore.”
“I don’t either,” Frank says. “Not this time.”
“This time?” I ask. “Were you a musician before?”
Frank looks at Drew, and I’m wondering if he’s waiting for a translation when Drew says, “I didn’t tell her.”
Robert laughs, and Frank just nods in acknowledgment. “I was,” he says, turning back to me. “My lifetimes have always revolved around music. Two times back, I focused on the cello too. You may have heard of me.” Frank pauses, and I can sense he’s teasing me. He poses with one arm extended and his chin up. “La Suggia?”
I gasp, picturing the elegant woman in the red dress whose portrait with the same pose has been hanging in my room for years. “Guilhermina Suggia? That was you?”
“It was,” Frank acknowledges, his dark eyes shining with the memory. “What a lifetime,” he sighs. “Casals and I were celebrated throughout Europe, playing for kings and queens. Salons in Paris, impromptu concerts in Prague.” He focuses back on me. “Now that was a life well lived.”
I can hardly believe it, although if I’ve learned anything over the past few months, it’s that anything is possible. How many people get to ask their long-dead idol questions? “What was it like?” I ask. “Being one of the first women to play?”
“Frightening,” he answers. “And exhilarating. Empowering.” The smile on his face shifts just a little. “And sometimes crushingly lonely.” Robert laces his arm through Frank’s and absently pats his hand. I remember that Suggia left Pablo Casals after decades together, their competitiveness often given as the reason for the split. She didn’t marry until she was in her forties and never had any kids. “I gave up a lot for my music,” Frank finally continues. “That kind of singular drive was right for that lifetime.” He glances fondly at Robert. “I’ve since learned to keep more of a balance.”
Drew leans forward, and Frank’s eyes shift to him. “Cole isn’t sure she wants to continue with music. She has an injury that’s made it hard to play recently.”
“If you’re meant to be a musician in this lifetime,” Frank tells me, “it will be impossible not to continue in some capacity. Your body and your spirit won’t let you quit.”
I think about the low-grade yearning I feel inside when I haven’t played for a while. About the feeling of peace that I only find with a bow in my hand. “So, what do you do now?” I ask. “Since you can’t play music this time?”
Robert looks at Frank with admiration and then answers for him. “He won’t tell you this, but Frank is one of the most respected composers in the entertainment industry.” He names several blockbuster movies with big, epic musical scores.
I see Frank watching Robert’s lips as he speaks. “I write a little music,” he says modestly.
“But . . . you can’t hear it?”
“Just because I can’t hear the notes doesn’t mean I don’t know what they sound like,” he says. “I write each part, hearing it in my mind and in my memories.” He sits back and sips his drink. “I do okay.”
“A bunch of gold statuettes in our bathroom says that you do more than okay,” Robert teases.
Frank looks a little embarrassed. He leans toward me. “You can’t let your circumstances dictate your life. Only you can decide. Success is twenty percent ability and eighty percent desire.” He smiles. “You can do anything you want. As long as you want it badly enough.”
“You look tired,” Drew says as we drive up the hill toward my neighborhood.
“I just have a lot going through my head,” I say, my body feeling heavy in the seat.
“There’s a lot to learn,” Drew agrees. “That’s why I’ve been trying not to overwhelm you with things all at once.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m actually glad to be getting some answers.” Aside from the basics, Griffon never liked to talk much about being Akhet, and now I’m wondering why. We drive in silence for a minute, images and snippets of conversation from tonight flashing through my mind. “Did you know Frank before tonight?”
“No. Not personally. I found him through the database and thought you might enjoy meeting him.”
“It was one of the coolest things that’s ever happened to me,” I tell him honestly. “Thanks.” I feel in my pocket for the card with Frank’s information on it and the open invitation to get in touch whenever I want. I can pick up the phone and text Guilhermina Suggia any time I feel like it. The only bad part about it is that I can’t ever tell Herr Steinberg. He would just die. But not before he had me committed. I think about all of the people Drew knows all over the world and wonder how many he’s introduced to Francesca. I know it’s not a good subject with him, but I risk it anyway. “You said that Francesca isn’t Akhet,” I say.
Drew shakes his head but doesn’t speak.
“How do you explain things to her? The money? The people you know?”
“I can’t.” He sighs and looks directly at me. “Which is one of the reasons why we’re not together anymore. I’ve moved out of that house and bought an apartment closer to downtown. I tried to make it work, but it was just too hard. Too many things I had to censor. It’s so much easier to be with people who really understand.”
The news gives me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like a safety net has been pulled away. “You broke up? When?”
“It’s been happening for a while. I really care for Francesca, but it was always going to end badly. I couldn’t be honest about the most basic things in my life, couldn’t introduce her to some of my closest friends.” Drew pulls up and double-parks in front of my house. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore.” I worry that my parents will see the car, but suddenly I don’t care if they’re mad at me.