Free The Color of Home: A Novel by Rich Marcello Page A

this.” With both hands, he pushed off the sofa, and hurried over to his guitar. He lifted it off of the stand, and strapped it on. Without tuning it, he started playing “Hold You.” An empty feeling in the pit of his stomach convinced him he was going to pass out before he finished.
    After the first verse was over, Sassa turned around, leaned against the windowsill, and crossed her arms. She forced a smile, as if her feelings had not caught up with her thoughts. Every now and then she tapped her foot in rhythm.
    Staring down, he hit the last chord and let it ring out. After a long pause, he said, “I was afraid to play the song for you.”
    “Why?”
    “Do you like it?”
    “It’s beautiful, but not enough to justify—”
    “I was afraid it wasn’t true for you.”
    “Oh.” She glanced down at her arms, still crossed. Dropping them down to her sides, she tapped her finger on the windowsill.
    “I was afraid you didn’t feel like you were home with me.”
    “Oh. Do you feel home?”
    “Without a doubt, though I’m still learning. That’s part of why I was afraid. I feel like I’m way out in front of you.”
    “And the tension these past couple of months?”
    “Fear about home.”
    “I do love you, Nick.” She turned and looked back out the window. “Quiet tonight.”
    “Late.”
    “Not even a taxi.”
    He unstrapped his guitar, placed it back on the stand, and returned to the sofa.
    A moment later, she joined him there, picking up an almost empty glass of water from the end table on the way. She took a sip. “I’m not sure if this is home. It may be. It may not be. Sometimes I’m afraid you’re going to swallow me up. I still have a lot to learn on my own.”
    His arms and legs prickled. A numbing. He couldn’t lose her. The song wasn’t good. He couldn’t go through such a loss again. He would do anything. They should never have watched Cinema Paradiso . Dad? His hands trembled. Trying to steady his hands, he tapped his foot quickly on the floor. “What do you want to do?”
    “I don’t know. This is hard. Let’s go to bed.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes.” She stood up, reached down for Nick’s hand, and pulled him up.
    In bed, he tried to forget. At first he was tentative and stiff, until she carried him away from thought, as she’d done many times in the past. He opened for a short time, touched a soft spot, pure, like heaven. But something snapped him back. Why was this happening now? What would happen next? Not knowing was hell. Loss was hell. Afterwards, still inside her, he circled back to his earlier question.
    “What do you want to do?”
    “Let’s just ride things out. We’ll be fine.”
• • •
    When Nick woke up on their one-year anniversary, Sassa had already left the apartment. Bikram. He went through his normal morning routine— shower, shave, Morning Joe , SportsCenter —and dressed in his favorite jeans and his Abbey Road T-shirt. As he readied to leave for the studio, she rushed into the apartment with two cappuccinos and pulled up just short of him.
    “I went to Joe’s. I want to talk.”
    “Okay.” He edged up to her, kissed her lightly, and lifted one cappuccino from her hand.
    “You’re drinking coffee today?”
    “Change of pace.” A trace of nervousness colored her words. She made her way to the kitchen table and slid into place. Tapping twice on the table, she pointed toward the chair next to her.
    He joined her. What was going on?
    “This past year rates as one of the best of my life. I’m in love with you. You’re kind, compassionate, and smart,” she said.
    “Good start.”
    “The thing is, I don’t believe I know how to sustain love.”
    “A day at a time.”
    She removed the top of her coffee and took a sip. A slight grimace later, she said, “Maybe. I know couples who began like we did this past year— young, in love, connected on so many levels—but who somehow lost their bond down the road.”
    “We won’t.”
    “I’m not so