“It’s time to move on, Pierre. You’ve held on for far too long already.”
The argument was put forth again. It had been eighteen months since Marie’s death.
Ignoring his casual shrug, his mother Renee was about to argue again… when it happened. A note played on the piano, and then another. A shiver froze Renee’s face, while a smile lit up his.
“This is a bad omen,” Renee whispered.
For Pierre, though, it was as nocturnal as an owl’s hoot, a daily occurrence.
Marie had been madly in love with music; and he, with her.
“She’s still here, Maman.”
(© 21st January 2016)