“Cole!” Veronique says, as if our meeting on the street is some kind of happy coincidence.
“What do you want?” I’m glad that my tone is as flat and lifeless as I mean it to be.
Veronique smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing. I just saw you and your friend across the street and wanted to say hello. Because it’s been so long.” She looks physically like the Veronique I first met last year—her dark hair shiny and not a strand out of place, but there’s something in her eyes that reminds me of the frantic woman up on the roof with a gun aimed at Griffon’s head. It’s been almost two months since that horrible day, but I can see right away that not much has changed.
“Not long enough,” I say. I glance at Rayne, who’s standing to the side. After all that happened between us, I forget she’s never actually met Veronique, never come face-to-face with the one who almost took it all away. Not like I’m going to introduce them now.
“Oh, come on,” Veronique says, as if we just had some small argument that can be washed away with a few words. “All’s well that ends well, right? Everything turned out okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, my voice louder than I intend it to be. I look around to make sure nobody is close enough to overhear. “The last time I saw you, you were trying to kill Griffon.” The scar on his cheek and the one on my arm are evidence that she did in fact mean to hurt us both; nothing that happened was an accident.
Veronique glances at Rayne, obviously not knowing how much to say in front of her.
“Rayne knows all about us,” I say. “All about what you did.”
“Right,” Veronique says, smoothing back her hair. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” There’s a pause as Veronique hesitates, staring at her hands. “Look, I was wrong, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” She looks straight into my eyes. “For everything.”
I wait, but Veronique doesn’t offer any more explanation. “Sorry?” I repeat, my voice again too loud. I concentrate on lowering it. “For which part? Sorry for stalking me? For permanently destroying my left hand as well as my career? For almost killing Griffon? Which part are you most sorry for?”
Rayne puts one hand on my trembling arm, as I vent the anger I wasn’t aware I’d hidden inside. I can’t look at Veronique right now. Every time I remember the sharp blast of the gun followed by the image of Griffon going over the edge of the building, I feel sick inside.
“It’s okay,” Rayne says, in an attempt to be reassuring.
“It is definitely not okay.” I’ve gone over and over it for the past couple of months, but Veronique hasn’t been here to answer for any of it. Now is my chance. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done.” I lean forward, my breath coming hard and fast as my heart pounds. “The scar Griffon’s going to carry for the rest of his life.” I pull up my sleeve and hold my arm out for her inspection. “My scar that hides the real damage inside. I can’t play anymore; I’ll probably never play in front of an audience again. And for what? I had nothing to do with Alessandra’s death in that lifetime.” At this point, I don’t care who hears me.
Veronique waits quietly until I’m done. “You’re right. I deserve all of that and more. I take full responsibility for everything I’ve done. I was stupid and stubborn. All I could see was an opportunity for revenge, to silence the anguish that’s followed me from one lifetime to the next.” Her eyes tear up. “I was blinded by my love for Alessandra, and it’s prevented me from moving on in this life. From being able to form relationships, to pursue my passions. And it was love that made me do things I can’t take back. I just thank God that everything ended up as well as it did.”
“Not all of us are so thrilled,” I say quietly, not wanting to let her wrap everything up in a neat little package.
“I’m seeing a therapist.” Veronique nods at Rayne. “She’s Khem, but someone who understands what it means to be Akhet.”
Rayne’s looking at me for clarification. “Khem is someone who’s not Akhet,” I explain, just as Janine did for me. I stare down Veronique. “But most Akhet don’t use it. It’s like slang, a derogatory term for someone who doesn’t know, who’s ignorant.”
Veronique holds her hands up in front of her. “I didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, she’s been really helpful in sorting some things out.” She looks at me. “Giacomo has gone back to Italy. Alone.” She laughs. “Or maybe not so alone by now, who knows?”
I have to admit I’m surprised that her boyfriend left her. Giacomo stood by her even though she loved a ghost. He was ready to kill for her. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I make sure that she hears my tone.
She shrugs, either not getting my sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. “It’s better this way. Even he couldn’t compete with my memories. That’s what I’m trying to learn to deal with. I may never find the essence of Alessandra again, and I have to come to terms with that. All I ask is your forgiveness.”
“Why in hell should I forgive you?” I say. “I trusted you, and you completely betrayed me. Why should I waste any more time listening to you?”
“You don’t have to,” Veronique says quietly, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk.
The expression of resignation on her face is pathetic and only makes me more angry. “Good to hear,” I say.
I turn to go, but Veronique grabs my hand. “Come on.” Her voice is almost desperate. “Don’t leave like this.”
I push her back as hard as I can, knowing that people are starting to look at us, but not caring at all. “Get your hands off me!”
Rayne jumps between us, one hand on each of our shoulders. “Stop!” If I wasn’t watching carefully, I would have missed it. As soon as Rayne touches her, Veronique flinches slightly and something unreadable crosses her face.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, putting a hand to her mouth. Two red spots appear on her cheeks, and I can see her hands trembling. Rayne isn’t Akhet, I know that, so I have no idea what’s causing this reaction.
“You’re insane.” I turn my back on Veronique, hopefully for the last time. I have nothing else I want to say to her. Ever. “Come on, Rayne, I’ve heard enough. Let’s get out of here.”
I pull the cello out of its case and lean it against my shoulder, the familiar weight letting me exhale for the first time in what seems like days. Music is something I don’t have to think about; it’s something I absorb without trying, and I’m grateful for every opportunity to lose myself in it.
At least that’s how it used to be. With a sigh, I pull the cello away from my left shoulder and set it against my right. Holding and playing the cello with my left hand is totally second nature, and to turn that around, to play the notes with the other side of my body, is something I’m still not used to. People compare it to trying to write with your other hand, but relearning how to play the cello this way is more like learning how to breathe underwater—impossible. Not that I don’t appreciate it. Griffon went to so much trouble and expense to get this righthand cello built for me; it’s the most amazing gift I’ve ever gotten. And I suppose I am getting better—every day it’s getting a little easier, and even though I’m a long way from playing concerts again, at least I can still teach.
Reaching for the bow with my left hand, I catch a glimpse of the raised, red scar that runs down the inside of my forearm, and immediately my anger at Veronique bubbles up in my chest all over again. Like I’d accept some halfhearted apology for everything she did. As I waited for the bus, I tried several times to text Griffon to tell him, but eventually I put the phone away. No sense getting him all worked up just as Owen arrives, and this way I can choose my words more carefully.