“This is Johnny’s weirdest group, but it’s his favorite,” I told Tyler and Lilly. “His rock and jazz groups just play covers at clubs, but Johnny writes a lot of the music for this bunch. It’s my favorite too.”
“Huh,” Tyler said. “I’m a rock and roll man myself. So, Lilly, what kind of music do you like best?”
Lilly hesitated. Then she put on a smile, and said, “Oh, I’m interested in most all types of music.”
Then the lights went down.
There were not many people in the cafe, but when the music started everyone looked up from their steaming mugs and plates of food, and listened. Some, caught by surprise, were spellbound. Others turned back to their food or their conversations, but glanced toward the musicians occasionally, and took some time to listen. I was as rapt as anyone, caught up in the spell of the music. The candles on the tables flickered, the strings of keys chimed, the fiddle and dulcimer sang together. My favorite song was one of Johnny’s compositions, a duet sung by Johnny and Mary, accompanied only by Gillian’s whispery chiming percussion. I glanced at my companions in the middle of the song. Tyler was mesmerized. And Lilly was bewildered.
In the glow of candlelight I could see the concentration on Lilly’s face as she struggled to comprehend. I saw her darting little glances at the other audience members, noting their reactions. She glanced at me, and I hastily looked back at the band. When the number was over she smiled and applauded, but her expression and movements looked forced, as if she were following a script. Johnny caught her eye, flashed a smile at her, and started the next song. And Lilly gazed at him as he played, in a kind of puzzled wonder.
When the concert was over I let Johnny have the car, to drive Lilly home, and walked outside with Tyler. The parking lot was dark, and deserted except for the cafe’s patrons, all of whom were now leaving. A cold wind blew past, fluttering the LIVE MUSIC banner on the cafe’s window. My Rabbit rattled out of the lot and onto the street, carrying Johnny and Lilly and an assortment of instruments.
“She looks like her mother,” Tyler said out of nowhere.
“You mean Lilly.”
“Yes, of course. And I do see something odd about her, though she hides it well. I doubt most people would notice.”
“But you did.”
He shrugged. “My sister’s autistic. There’s something about Lilly that reminds me of her, but it’s very subtle.”
“Her mother told me that Lilly was diagnosed as autistic when she was little, but the doctors kept changing their minds.”
“There’re a lot of different degrees of autism. Some people are completely lost in their own worlds. But others function perfectly well in society. Like Diana, my sister. She gets along pretty well.”
“Lilly dances. Ballet. Beautifully.”
“Well, that wouldn’t fit with autism. But something similar, perhaps. Hmmm.”
“Do you think I should tell Johnny?”
“Lord, Heather, I don’t know. He’s your brother, you should know best about that. Anyway, what makes you think he doesn’t know already?”
I stared at him; I had not even considered that possibility. But Johnny was more observant than I was. He probably did know.
“Your brother’s quite a musician,” Tyler said. “Is he older or younger?”
“Younger. My parents’ problem child. You should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she visited us last year and found that his hair was longer than mine.”
Tyler laughed. “I can imagine.”
“My parents were so glad when he came to town and moved in with me. They were sure I’d be a good influence, and I’d convince him to change his ways. I’ve never had the heart to tell them that it’s not going to happen. I do envy Johnny sometimes, you know. I wish I could have some of his musical ability, some of his carefree attitude.”
“I don’t know,” Tyler said. “I think you do all right with what you have.”
“Thanks.” I knew I was blushing, but it was probably too dark for him to tell. “How old is your sister?”
“Fifteen. She’s still in high school. She lives with my folks back in Colorado. I don’t see them much. Actually I haven’t seen much of anyone since I started work with Dr. Peterson. The work takes so much time, and you always feel like you should be working faster, harder. Especially when you start meeting patients, like Vanessa.”
“I see what you mean. But surely it’s good to get out of the lab once in a while. A change of pace, a fresh start.”
“Maybe so.” Tyler shivered and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “So, can I drive you home, since your brother’s run off with your car?”
“You sure can,” I said happily, and he opened the door of his car for me.
I was still awake when Johnny got in that night. I had no business being awake, since I’d been up almost the whole night before, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler. Anyway, I had tomorrow off, and could sleep all day if need be.
I heard Johnny come in, heard various bangings and bumpings as he got his instruments through the door and into his room. Then I heard the rustling of papers for a time. Perhaps Johnny was looking for a particular piece of music, or perhaps he was changing the pictures on his work wall. Yesterday all the pictures had been waterfalls. Johnny uses pictures to compose his music. Don’t ask me how. He says he reads them like a music score, and plays what he sees, but it’s never been something I’ve understood.
After a time I heard the soft notes of a flute. The music was simple and spare, in a minor key. Each phrase of the song seemed to reach for something, sad and longing, never finding what it sought. Usually music can put me to sleep, which is a useful thing when you live with a nocturnal musician. But this music was disturbing, and though the flute was soft and low the music was no lullaby. I got up and went to Johnny’s room.
He didn’t know I was there at first. He was sitting cross-legged on the foot of his bed, flute in hand, a rumpled notation book in his lap. Every so often he paused in his playing to scribble on the book in his lap. Each phrase he played was different, but it was all part of the same song. I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching and listening, and Johnny played the last phrase, made his last notation, and put down pencil and flute. He was deep in thought, as quiet and pensive as I had ever seen him. He looked up then, and saw me.
“Heather, what’re you doing up? I thought you always slept through this stuff.”
“I do. Just not tonight. I haven’t gone to sleep yet. And that music… what are you playing?”
I looked at his wall. The waterfalls were still in the places where they had been earlier, but this music had not sounded in the least like a waterfall.
“It’s not on the wall,” Johnny said. “Just a picture in my mind. Lilly.”
“Oh.” And I understood why the music was so sad, so full of longing; why it seemed to be missing something. And I knew that Tyler was right; Johnny already knew everything we knew about Lilly.
“She can’t feel things, Heather. She wants to; she sees others doing it, but she can t.”
“I know.”
“But maybe I can help her.”
“Johnny, she’s been searching all her life, and a lot of people have tried to help.”
“Yeah. But I’m the one falling in love.”
“In love? But Lilly can’t feel love, can she?”
“Most people can, but they don’t. Lilly can’t, but she tries. She looks for it, even if she’ll never find it: That makes her special. Don’t you see?”
It was Johnny’s typical convoluted logic, but I did see what he meant. Somehow Lilly had touched him, deeper, I thought, than any girl ever had before. But this relationship was hopeless from the start, and it made me sad, and tired. I gave Johnny a hug, and went to bed.