Music in the Night (Logan 4)

was sure most of our friends believed that when one

of them said something to one of us, the other would

soon know it. They all sensed that there were no

secrets I would keep from Cary or he from me. He

just naturally hovered about me, protected me as we

grew older. Being twins, it took only a glance or a

look for us to communicate a fear or a happy idea. Perhaps our friends resented this magical

connection; perhaps they were jealous and that was

why they wanted to hurt us. It was easy for them to

turn Cary's devotion to me into something dirty and

sick.

And then, a more fearful voice, tiny, hiding in

the back of my mind, stepped up to say, "Maybe Cary

was so angry because he realized some of what they said was true.. . . He was too devoted to you. Maybe he realized his own problem and maybe his violence

was his way of trying to deny it."

I turned over in bed and buried my face in the

pillow to shut off that tiny voice and the memories it

evoked. Memories of strange looks, lingering touches,

intimate words that were meant for lovers, not

siblings. I was afraid for Cary, afraid that if I gave this

tiny voice even an iota of credence, I would avoid

Cary's eyes, find his touch burning, flee from being

alone with him. The separation that had begun the day

we were born would reach its final stage, and soon

Cary, my poor beloved brother, would be alone. I cried for him, feeling anger and confusion, as

well as shame. He was still above me, shut up in his

attic workshop. It was very quiet, but I thought I heard

him crying. I listened hard, but it was silent again. The

wind had died down, yet there was still enough of it to

make the walls creak. Outside, the moon played