Free The Time Between by Karen White

were standing right about here when I heard piano music coming from the house that used to stand there.” He indicated the empty space where my family home had been. “It was a cool evening and the windows were open. We stayed here for about an hour, listening to the music and staring up at the sky as the stars appeared one by one. It’s one of the only childhood memories I have where I remember being completely happy.”
    My throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed a ball of cotton. “And you wanted to know if it could have been me playing that night.”
    His BlackBerry buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket to answer and have a brief conversation before ending the call. Without looking at me, he said, “We’ve got to go. I have an issue at work that can’t wait until Monday.”
    He began walking toward the car, his long strides making it hard for me to catch up. “Did you ever come back? Before that time with Harper.”
    “A couple of times. It was hard to get away without Aunt Helena noticing. But I never heard the piano again.”
    I felt the odd compulsion to apologize to him for not being there to play when he needed to hear me. Instead I reached into my purse and pulled out the car keys. “Would you like to drive?”
    He looked almost relieved, and I recalled how his hands had clutched at the armrest on the way over. He took the keys and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
    He held the passenger door open for me and I slid in. We rode in silence for most of the way home as I tried to remember a night when I’d felt the presence of somebody outside my window, and thought of a little boy staring up at the night sky and dreaming of one day touching the stars.



CHAPTER 8
    L ucy slid her Buick into a spot at the curb on Gibbes Street in front of Finn’s house, then looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Lucy. Everything about this new position is completely legit—I’ve even met the elderly great-aunt. There’s nothing to worry about.”
    She stuck out her chin. “Um-hmm. Well, when he starts asking you to call him by his first name, you just let me know. ’Cause that’s when you
really
need to start worrying.”
    I concentrated on gathering my purse from the floor so she couldn’t see my face. “Give me a call if you want me to drive you to work for a change. I’ll have the Volvo for at least the rest of summer—until the nanny gets back.”
    Lucy looked with disdain at the white Volvo SUV with the Ashley Hall sticker on the window. She snorted. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that car. I prefer a vehicle with a lot more personality.”
    I leaned into the open door. “It’s got air-conditioning.”
    She looked at me without blinking. “I’ll let you know.”
    I shut the door and waved as she pulled away. “See you at work tomorrow. If not, you can call the police.”
    She was still shaking her head as she drove out of sight, the sound from the broken muffler unfamiliar in this neighborhood.
    I stood outside the black painted wrought-iron gate, the scent of something sweet and green heavy in the air. As with most all Charleston homes south of Broad Street, the front and side gardens were filled with flowers, a busy array of colors and scents that always found ways to surprise the senses. They made no sound, yet I’d always thought that if I hadn’t been a musician, I would have been a gardener. But I’d had no desire to be either for a very long time.
    I pushed open the gate and stood on the brick-paved walk that led up to the raised house, a split staircase rising to the main entrance on the first floor. I had never been interested in studying or knowing much about architecture, but from staring up at the house from the walk, I could tell it was very big and very old. It faced the street, and although it didn’t have a piazza, there was a small half-circle porch at the front door held up by two columns. The