Born to Fly

Starting to Learn - ✔

Funeral preparations seize my next four days. It's tedious work, but I'd rather be doing this than dealing with my grief. I continue to set up the various warehouses with Loren's help. She's good at it, too. She's still a bit of a ditz, but a cheerful ditz.

Oswald does his best to be there for me. Running a city and keeping a stable relationship at the same time isn't as easy as we thought it'd be. We usually get the early mornings and late nights to ourselves.

"He's always busy," I say. "I mean, have you seen him come out of the meeting room today?"

Butch takes a bit from his sandwich. "What do you expect? He's in charge of thousands."

Loren's rebuttals his claim. "But what kind of boyfriend—"

Oswald waddles out of the conference hall.

"Do your ears burn?" I ask.

"No. Should they?"

"Sera was saying how busy you are."

Cobblepot shares Butch's rather confused shrug. "What did you think this job would entail?"

"That's what I said."

My phone buzzes loudly on the table. "Hello, this is Sera Gordon."

"This is Mr. Turner. I wanted to inform you that we have completed the preparation for your mother's visitation soon and her funeral tomorrow."

"I want everything to be perfect. Are you sure?"

"You have nothing to worry about, Miss Gordon. Let us take care of you, now. Meanwhile, I can suggest some very well-known therapist—"

"No thanks." I hang up before Mr. Turner has the chance to finish.

All three of my friends give me curious looks.

"My, my, look at the time! I should really get practicing."

I dart to the very end of the mansion. There's a single room all by itself right next to the janitor's closet. Anyone else would look over it, making it the perfect place to practice the piano. My physical therapist suggested I pick up piano lessons to assist in getting my hands to function again. That was three days ago. I've been practicing every day since.

I was given a full-ride scholarship to college for my playing. When I started working at the hospital, I stopped taking lessons. The knowledge is still there, but my fingers are not. I'm back to the basics.

Sitting at the lone keyboard, I carefully unwrap my arms. The bruising has gone down, but the scars still mark my arm with discoloration and disfigurement. My tremors have gotten worse since my mother's death. Only the physical therapist has noticed. I don't plan on telling Oswald.

I begin by forcing my fingers to align with each key. Then, I press each finger down one by one.

"You're getting better every day," Penguin says at the door.

"Since when did you become the musical prodigy?"

The fabric of his suit ruffles, forcing me to rush in an attempt to cover the shaking in my hands. "Since never. That's my—" He grabs onto my limbs, feeling their unsteady nature. "Sera, your tremors are so much worse. When were you going to tell me about this?"

"I wasn't."

Pain pools in his jade eyes. "Why not?"

"It's because of the stress I'm under. I'm sure it's going to calm down in a few days. It's nothing to worry about."

"Contrary to what you might believe, I care about you and your health. Please don't keep this from me."

I pull away from his embrace. "I don't want you to pity me."