Chapter 6He sat before the piano, half-slumped, his fingers gently tapping at the keys in a half-remembered melody, the barely recalled ghost of a song—something from his youth, something from when life had been easier, more straightforward.
Still wearing his shirt and jeans from the night before, the stubble on his chin flecked now with white, Jude Calohan tried to organize his thoughts, tried to put everything in order, and yet all he could think of was the notion that he had acted out of panic, out of fear, that he had entered into a world for which he was not prepared.
White keys, black keys, fingers feeling swollen, the piano unresponsive, sickness rising in his throat, an ache in his head.
He thought about his relationship with his father, thought about all the things he had never
