“OKAY, I DON’T know if I’ve ever been there to say this before, but that was hands down the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life.” Reid rubbed his stomach appreciatively as I held the door that led out of Fisherman’s Grill open.
As the door shut behind us, I chuckled and wrapped my scarf around my neck to ward off the chill in the air. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone eat that many crab legs before. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Like is not a strong enough word,” he said, stopping halfway down the pier to look down at something in the dark lake. “You think they get their fish out of here?”
“Probably some of it.”
“Ugh, I can’t think about more food,” he said, pushing off the rail. “You don’t mind rolling me down the street, do you? I may not make it to the car.”
“I’d carry you, but the fifty pounds of crab meat in your stomach may slow us down.”
Reid glanced back at me, his eyes gleaming under the streetlamp. “That’s a pretty nice offer.”
“It would be if I meant it.” I pushed my hands into my jacket pockets so I wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid, like grab his hand, and then nudged him as I passed. “Come on, slowpoke.”
“I’m not slow. I’m full.”
I chuckled as he pretended to shuffle along behind me, and I slowed down enough for him to catch up.
“Have you been down here lately?” I asked, nodding toward Broad Street. Translation:Do you remember downtown Floyd Hills at all?When he shook his head, I looked out at all the tiny white lights strung around the trees lining the streets, giving downtown a festive glow for what was sometimes a dreary February. “Care to take a look around?”
Reid smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
We walked along the sidewalk, and I pointed out each of the stops, restaurants, and bars we passed, many of which would be closing soon. Reid listened avidly, asking questions or cracking jokes while we peered inside the storefront windows.
When we came up to Newton’s Music, Reid stopped and squinted up at the signage before looking at the store window and back again.
“I know this place,” he murmured, stepping up to the window to peer inside.
“You’ve been here before?”
“I-I think so.” He scanned over the various instruments, guitars, and a drum set, but when his eyes landed on the baby grand piano, his hand came up to the glass.
“What is it?” When he continued to stare, I checked the shop hours. Still open. “Do you want to go inside?”
“I think I do.” Pushing off the doorframe, he entered the small shop like he was in a trance, and I could only imagine what was going through his mind right now. Was something coming back to him? Would this be the beginning, the incident that triggered his memories flooding the dark spaces in his mind?
The door shut behind us, and a woman who looked to be in her mid- to late sixties came out from the back of the shop and greeted us warmly before getting a good look at Reid.
“Oh heavens, I didn’t know you’d be stopping by! It’s so good to see you. You better come here.” She took a hold of Reid’s shoulders and pulled him in for a big hug while he looked over at me as if to ask who the hell the woman was.
When she pulled back, Reid gave her a hesitant smile and said, “Do you know who I am?”
“Why, how could I ever forget such a gifted performer as you, Reid Valentine,” the woman said. “Besides, you know very well you’ve always been my favorite. It’s been so long since you’ve come by, though. What can I do for you?”
Reid stared at the woman as if trying to place exactly how he knew her, and when he didn’t respond after a few beats, I gave him a subtle nudge. He blinked, shaking his head. “Oh, uh… I don’t suppose you’d mind if I…” Reid looked toward the baby grand piano, and the woman gasped.
“Reid, I’d be delighted. Yes, please,” she said, gesturing for him to go ahead.
I followed behind him as he ran a hand reverently over the top of the piano.
“You play?” I asked.
“Yes,” he whispered, and then he sat down on the bench, his back straight and his fingers hovering over the keys. He certainly looked the part of a pianist, but it wasn’t until his hands moved smoothly across the keys, as if getting familiar with them, that I realized he didn’t just look the part—he was the part.
A soft, mournful melody filled the shop, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the woman leaning against the back counter, her hands clasped over her chest, beaming.
I rounded the piano and sat next to Reid on the bench as he continued to play, his movements no longer tentative, but masterful. “That’s beautiful.”