Free Invisible Ellen by Shari Shattuck

twisted with a mischievous smile and she flung her arms out in surrender. “Okay, fine. Do whatever you think is best. And I don’t care if it’s our business or not, I want to hear what happens.”
    Leaving Ellen alone at the table, Justice started off to the kitchen area. “Do you want coffee?” he called out.
    â€œUm, yes, please,” Ellen said, hoping for dessert too. She’d finished off two large bowls of pasta to each of their single portions, and she’d tried to eat slowly, but it had only been half of what she would normally call a fulfilling dining experience.
    â€œNone for me, Just,” Temerity called back.
    â€œI wasn’t asking you,” Justice said.
    â€œNice.” Temerity snorted. Then to Ellen, she added from the side of her mouth, “Brothers, such a pain in the ass.” She swung a hand at the sofa area. “I’ll get my instrument. Why don’t you move over there, but be careful, the rug is slippery.”
    Picking up the ice pack from next to her plate, Ellen pressed it back to her tender forehead. “Thanks for the heads-up,” she said.
    Temerity twisted back. “Funny,” she said approvingly. “That was very clever, Ellen.” She gave a little grunt of amusement and thenwent on her way across the big room. “Be right back for a short performance.”
    Ellen had never had someone play an instrument for her before. There was a vague memory of an out-of-tune piano in a music room at school, but she’d always associated the instrument with acute fear that she would be called on to sing. As she stuffed herself into a corner of the sofa, she tried to steady herself to endure an uncomfortable affront.
    When Temerity returned, she was holding a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. Justice came out from behind the kitchen counter and set a cup of coffee on the low table in front of Ellen. On the saucer were several fat cookies. She sipped the coffee. It was light with cream, sweet with sugar, and hot. Ellen smiled. Just how she liked it.
    â€œThat okay?” Justice asked.
    â€œGood, thanks.”
    Meanwhile, Temerity had placed the instrument under her chin and was tuning it by plucking at the strings and adjusting the keys. This was all Chinese to Ellen.
    And when Temerity raised the bow, Ellen grasped the sofa fabric and clenched, her fingers pressing into the cushions. Temerity held the bow, poised and ready, above the instrument, Ellen cringed inwardly, pursing her mouth tightly. Temerity drew the bow bravely across the strings, Ellen’s mouth dropped open.
    A strain of magnificence filled the space, followed by another and another until notes danced and sustained and flickered and pulled at every exhausted emotion in Ellen. The melody struck directly through her as though her body were an open chamber that resonated with each draw of the bow. She leaned forward, trembling, watching Temerity’s face, alight with intense expression, and forthe first time since she could remember, she felt something. For twenty-four years Ellen had watched, listened, and documented, but never, never, never had Ellen experienced such a thing. This wasn’t the flat, recorded violin music she’d heard played on the single speaker of her cheap radio. This music moved all around her and changed, tinting everything with its moody pigment, like watercolors brushed in bold strokes through the air, softening as they faded, blending and shaping, dripping down into her, taking her from melancholy to elation to longing, and back again. It went on, telling its enchanted story with a long, sustained note, the vibrato shivering through Ellen so that she trembled with it—then it faded, lingering and haunting, from the air.
    Ellen exhaled, spent.
    â€œI like that one,” Justice said. “That the new piece you’ve been working on?”
    â€œThe Mozart, yeah,” Temerity said. “What’d you