After about fifteen minutes of walking, they reached a small town home. It was quiet and quaint, with a large oak tree casting a shadow over the property. Kveta walked up to the door and rang the doorbell, stepping back and waiting patiently for an answer.
The door opened, and a middle aged woman stood in the doorway. Her eyes lit up upon seeing Kveta and her siblings.
“Oh, hello my dears!” She waved her hand, smiling warmly. Her gaze landed on Mikayla and Jade. “Oh? Who are your friends?”
“This is Mikayla and Jade!” Kveta pointed to each of them respectively, and Jade gave a sheepish smile. Mikayla jumped up and down.
“Hello, hello!” She beamed. The lady laughed.
“An energetic one, I see!” The lady chuckled. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you two! I am Mrs. Rehbein.”
“Nice to meet you too!” Mikayla replied.
Mrs. Rehbein stepped aside, gesturing to the six to come inside. They walked inside, and Mrs. Rehbein closed the door behind them.
“We’re here to see Tristan,” Dusanka stated. A small frown hinted on Mrs. Rehbein’s face.
“Oh yes,” she started, “he’s in his room. You know how he is… ever since his father passed…”
“His father died?” Mikayla piped up. Mrs. Rehbein nodded solemnly.
“Unfortunately. A car accident.” Her eyes clouded with sorrow, her lip quivering. “It’s been a little over two years now, but I know Tristan is still struggling to cope.”
“I’m so sorry,” Jade murmured. Mrs. Rehbein shook her head, trying to fight the tears forming in her eyes. Looks like the wound hadn’t healed for her completely just yet.
“Anyway, I’ll go grab him. Please wait one moment. Feel free to help yourself to any drinks in the fridge.” She headed down the hallway, and Mikayla looked around at all the decorations in the house.
A small picture caught her eye. It was a younger Mrs. Rehbein, a man and a young boy. She assumed it was Mrs. Rehbein’s late husband and Tristan. Mikayla gazed at it, feeling sadness in her heart. She couldn’t imagine losing a family member and all the pain that came with it.
A young man came around the corner of the hallway, his shoulders slumped forward. Noticing him, Mikayla walked up to him, grinning.
“Tristan?” She asked.
“Yeah,” the boy responded softly.
“Hi Tristan! I’m Mikayla!” She beamed. Tristan averted his eyes.
“Hi…” his voice trailed off.
Kveta whispered something into Mrs. Rehbein’s ear, and Mrs. Rehbein’s eyes grew wide. She gave a nod. Putting her hands together, she said, “Tristan, why don’t you and Mikayla go for a walk?”
Tristan’s cheeks burned red, and he shot a quick glance at Mikayla. “U-uh, sure, I guess?”
Mikayla wrapped an arm around Tristan. “Come on, Tristan!” She yelled, leading him out the door. He looked desperately back at his mother, confused, before the door closed on them.
“Alright… this is weird.” Tristan muttered under his breath. His palms grew clammy as he looked at Mikayla. “Uh, where are we walking to?”
“Wherever you want!” Mikayla smiled. “Pick a place.”
Tristan, looking unsure, thought for a moment. His feet then began to carry him in the opposite direction from where Mikayla came from earlier. Mikayla bounded along after him happily. Tristan said nothing as they walked for a few minutes.
“Tristan, how old are you?” Mikayla asked, sparking up a conversation. Tristan avoided eye contact.
“Seventeen.” Tristan replied. “How old are you?”
Mikayla gasped, insulted. “Weren’t you ever taught not to ask a woman her age?!”
Tristan stopped and held his hands up in defense, shock on his face. “I-I’m sorry! I just thought-”
“Nah, I’m kiddin’!” Mikayla giggled, giving his back a light slap. “I’m twenty three.”
Tristan let out a heavy sigh. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you!...”
Mikayla chuckled cutely and started to walk again. “What do you like to do? What are your hobbies?” Mikayla questioned.
“U-um, I like to play piano.” Tristan responded, having calmed down. His voice grew quiet. “It reminds me of my dad…”
“Your dad,” Mikayla breathed. Tristan trembled slightly, not meaning to have said it loud enough for her to hear. She looked at the ground. “He passed away, didn’t he?”
“Y-yeah,” Tristan replied gently. “Two years ago, when I was fifteen.”
“That must be really hard to deal with.” Mikayla sympathized. She took a deep breath. “And she’s getting married to… Mr. Medved, right?”
Tristan’s fists tightened at the mention of his name. “I guess,” he responded bitterly.
Mikayla nodded slowly. She could see Kveta’s problem come into play now. She would have to approach the subject carefully. Deciding not to delve into the Medveds anymore for now, Mikayla changed the subject back to his hobby.
“How long have you been playing piano?” She queried. Tristan shrugged his shoulders, letting out a saddened laugh.
“For as long as I can remember.” He answered. “My dad was the one who got me into it. He taught me. He even taught me to play Chopin’s Prelude in E Minor. It was his favorite piece, and like Chopin, it was played at my father’s funeral.”
Mikayla listened carefully. Despite loving music, she wasn’t familiar with Chopin or any of his pieces. However, by the tone of his voice, she could tell just how much Chopin’s music meant to Tristan. Playing the piano must’ve held so much importance to him.
“How nice,” Mikayla said. She looked around at the trees as they thickened and became more abundant. The road beneath them turned to a dirt path, and sunlight dappled the ground as it broke through the canopy of the trees. “Where are we going?” Mikayla asked curiously.
Tristan didn’t respond, but the sound of water answered for him. He veered off the dirt path and down a small incline before reaching the bank of a creek. The water was clear.
Tristan inhaled deeply. “My dad and I used to hang out by this creek and skip rocks. I wasn’t very good at it, but my dad… he was amazing. His rocks used to skip five or six times.” Tristan told her. He grabbed a flat rock, flipping it over in his hands a few times before skipping it. It only skipped once.
Mikayla stood silently, watching the young boy. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, and Mikayla wished she could bring his father back for him. However, she knew that was impossible. She couldn’t erase the pain he was feeling, but maybe she could help ease it.
“Tristan,” Mikayla said carefully, “I am very sorry about your father’s passing.”
Tristan said nothing.
Looking over the creek again, she sighed. “Let’s head back now,” Mikayla stated. Tristan shrugged his shoulders and lead the way back to his house.
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