Peril

SARA

He arrived with roses wrapped in clear plastic, the stems secured with a blue rubber band.

“I got them at the corner deli,” he told her. “I figured they’d brighten the place up a little.”

She took them from him. “Thanks.”

They walked up the stairs, and she stood silently while he fumbled for the keys, retrieved them at last, then opened the door.

“Lucille used to have a vase in the kitchen,” he told her. “Top shelf.”

He found the vase, filled it with water, stuffed the flowers into it, and returned to the small living room, where he stood, glancing about. “You can rearrange things any way you want,” he said. Then he placed the vase on the small wooden table next to the front window. “Place could use a little light,” he said as he threw open the curtains.

A bright shaft of light swept down in a gleaming slant.

“I’ve never seen the curtains open,” he said, turning to her. “Lucille was, I don’t know, she didn’t like too much light. Actually, she didn’t like any at all.” He looked at the flowers. “Lucille didn’t like flowers either.”

“Why was she so unhappy?” Sara asked.

“I don’t know,” Abe answered. He faced the window. “Nice street. So, what do you think of the place?”

“I like it,” she said.

He moved to the piano and put down the music he’d brought. “I was hoping you’d sing again.” Before she could answer, he placed the music on the music stand. “I put them in the order I think they should be sung,” he told her. “I mean, if it were an act.”

She started to say no, to repeat once again that it was impossible, but he sat down and placed his hands on the keyboard. “Ready when you are.”

“I can’t,” she said.

He looked at her sternly. “You have to,” he said. “You have to, Samantha, or you’ll”- his eyes appeared almost to melt in the intensity of what he said-“or you’ll give up on everything.”

Tentatively, she stepped over to the piano, looked at the music, and began, singing softly at first, her eyes meeting his briefly, then leaping away.

She finished four songs before he said “Okay, that’s enough for now” and lowered the top back over the keys. “What you need is an audience,” he told her. “Feedback.” Before she could respond, he plunged ahead. “I don’t mean a full act. Just a few songs for a few people. The late-night crowd.” He smiled. “How about tonight?”

She felt her stomach draw into a knot.

“What’s the matter, Samantha?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to stay…”

“What?”

She shook her head.

“Hidden,” Abe said. “Isn’t that what you told me when I offered you a job? That you couldn’t take it because you had to stay hidden?”

She nodded.

“Who are you hiding from?”

She turned away, but he took her shoulders lightly and drew her back to him. “Some guy after you? Boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

“Husband?”

“No.”

She tried to turn away again, but he held her more firmly. “You in trouble with the cops, something like that?”

A short, aching laugh broke from her. “No,” she said. “Not the cops.”

“Who, then?”

A small wall seemed to give way inside her. “My father-in-law,” she answered quietly. “He’s a bad man.”

“Who is he?”

She shook her head adamantly, and he knew absolutely that she would not reveal the name.

“Okay,” he said, “but bad man or not, you can’t hide forever. And besides, you have to make a living, right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “So here’s what you do. You come in around midnight. There’ll be just a few people in the place. You’ll sing a few songs. Just for the regulars. No advertising. Nothing to draw attention to you.” He didn’t ask her to accept or refuse the idea, but simply rose, walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at her. “It’s what you want more than anything, isn’t it?” he asked. “One more stab at singing.. or maybe just… happiness?”

She settled her gaze upon him in a way she hoped did not make her appear broken, did not ask for pity, but just a chance to make it work. “Yes,” she said.