Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 22: Gift

She sits on the couch and holds the guitar close to her, almost in a hug.

"Aren't you going to play it?" I ask.

"I'll have to tune it first," she says, not taking her eyes from the instrument.

"Oh," I say. I should have thought of this. "Do you need a tuner?"

"There's one in the case," she says.

I look inside and find an object that I suppose could be a tuner. It's been a long time since my parents forced me to play the cello and even then I didn't have to tune it.

"How did you know?" she asks.

"Know what?"

"This guitar - it's the same kind as mine back home. My dad taught me to play his, then got me one just like this for my tenth birthday." She runs her fingers across the instrument again. She finally looks at me again. A tear has escaped her right eye and is slowly running down her face. "Really," she says, pausing to wipe at her face, "thank you. Thank you so much."

I offer her a small smile.

~~~

I return inside for lunch after some practice with my new Colt. It's a gorgeous pistol. My trusty Beretta will always have a special place in my heart, since it saved my life on more than one occasion, but this Colt might just become my favorite pistol I've ever fired. I walk through the front door to hear the sounds of the guitar being played, though the couch is bare. She must be in the bedroom. I take care to shut the door gently, so as not to disturb her. After a few moments, I hear her begin to sing. I quietly move to stand in the doorway to the bedroom to hear her voice better. Ana is focused on the instrument in her arms and doesn't notice me.

And if there's something real between me and you

Well are we both open to

All these possibilities

So many little possibilities

Right in front of us

Close enough to touch

And far enough to have some time to see

All these possibilities,

Oh, all these possibilities,

Are written in the stars

We are who we are, baby

And I can't help but think that possibly,

There's possibilities.

Ana stops singing but keeps strumming the guitar. She finally looks up and sees me in the doorway. Her eyes widen and fingers freeze, leaving the last chord she played reverberating though the instrument until she lays her hand across the strings to silence them.

"I didn't see you there. I hope I didn't mess up this time. I've been working on it, but it's been a while since I've played this song," she says, looking a little embarrassed and talking nervously.

"No, it was really good," I say, hoping that my embarrassment isn't as obvious as hers. "What was that?"

"Oh, it was just a silly pop song from a TV movie. I was like fourteen when I saw it and I was nuts about it. Insisted on learning all the songs."

It was a love song. She was playing a love song. On the guitar I bought her. While sitting on my bed.She's not singing it for you, stupid, I remind myself. I clear my throat nervously.

"Had lunch yet?" I ask.

~~~

Two hours later I find myself trying to imagine how one would go about building a greenhouse. The sound of Ana's guitar playing floats softly through the cabin, though she hasn't started singing again since I came inside. I try to tell myself that I'm not just thinking about building a greenhouse because I think she'd like it, but because it would be useful. A greenhouse would really come in handy if I wanted to keep plants growing during winter. Fresh produce is much harder to come by during the winter. The lack of sunlight would be a challenge. Couldn't I use UV lights to compensate for that? Isn't that how people grow weed in their basements or something?

I don't enjoy the prospect of calling Joe to order all the supplies I'll need to establish Ana's garden. I get the feeling that he'll realize this is just another extravagant gift and tease me for it. Why can't he mind his own business?

I found the sat phone last week, with Ana's help. Fortunately, she seemed to believe my explanation that I accidentally dropped it out in the woods somewhere. I managed to throw it much farther than I would have expected. Maybe I should've played baseball in high school. I would have preferred to leave the phone out there to rot. Only the realization that without it, I'd need to interact with people in order to keep getting food changed my mind. I was very grateful to find that the sat phone seemed none the worse for wear, despite sitting out in the woods for two days.

I look down at my poor sketch of a greenhouse. I was never a good artist even when I still had a functional right hand to draw with. I set the paper down on the desk and cover the dining room table with an old towel. The Colt needs cleaning.