Right Where You Left Me | Reiner Braun

Chapter 11 - Just a Spell

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Reiner and I decided to tell Mr. Pascal as soon as we could, because even though he was the one who encouraged me to meet the former, we still needed his blessing. And after I informed Reiner about our grandpa’s worsening condition, he really stressed at how we should make every moment count.

The night we met at the meadow was only a few days before Mr. Pascal’s birthday, and we celebrated by buying him a carrot cake, one of the only couple of sweets he enjoyed, and singing for him that morning. Reiner played the guitar quite well, and we sang jolly songs that made the grumpy guy smile and nod along every now and then.

Reiner hired a photographer for that afternoon to have our picture taken at the bookstore. Mr. Pascal was complaining, telling us that it was a waste of money, but we playfully waved him off. My partner and I both knew that these were moments that we had to treasure, and we had to find a way to keep them for as long as we could.

So we posed with our Wiseguy in the middle, on his ancient oak chair that he never replaced. We took a couple with just me and my old man, and then another with just the two of them gentlemen. Then Reiner and I took one of just the two of us, with his hand around my waist, and myself partially facing him, a hand holding onto his shoulder.

It was a fun day. Nothing alarming was evident in Mr. Pascal’s health, although he was as pale and weak as ever. But we’ve made him smile, and even chuckle or roll his eyes a few times. That was all we hoped for back then.

That evening, I continued my sewing on my seat at the couch, in front of the empty fireplace. Reiner was on the armchair across from me, playing a light and slow tune on his stringed instrument, his gaze a distant beacon to nowhere.

“I didn’t know you knew how to play an instrument.” I remarked with a sly smile, which he picked up on right away.

“What? You’d think a brute doesn't have at least one sensibility?” He grinned, making me smile even wider. I shook my head and avoided his teasing gaze.

“Well, you certainly don’t seem like one to appreciate music,” I said. “But I’m pleasantly surprised. I like singing.”

“You have a pretty voice.” He said, still playing his light, unfamiliar tune. “They say the women of Arka are known for the beauty of their singing voices. There’s even a running joke that every Arkan woman can sing.”

I laughed faintly. “Maybe. Not like I’ve had the pleasure of knowing any Arkans except for my family. But my mother sang very prettily. I remember how the neighbors tuned in whenever she was doing the laundry, because she’d always sing softly while working. Nobody understood the words. But they said it was like opera for poor people.”

Stealing a glance at him, I saw that he was staring at the floor, his eyes drooping with a hint of somberness. There was always something so melancholic about Reiner’s disposition- a translucent layer of him that I still couldn’t seem to pierce through. Though I worried that there were still some parts of him that he refused to show me, I knew that he would never keep it in for too long. And I was willing to wait until he did.

“What’s that song you’re playing?” I asked after a moment of comfortable silence. “It sounds very… yearning.”

“Oh, it’s a…” Reiner hesitated, before clearing his throat and continuing with his piece, slowly, every note as if he was reviewing them over again. “Celine taught me this song. She said she’d always known it without ever knowing where she learned it.”