My voice filled the room with an old French melody I’d learned from Jacqueline. It danced along the ceilings, decorating the room with longing as only a favorite sad song can do. I still remember the words… O, ma très chère, ô mon ami, pourquoi n’êtes-vous pas ici? Je voudrais que vous soyez ici avec moi, mais une guerre vous a pris de moi. Oh, my dearest, o my love, why are you not here? I wish you were with me, but a war has taken you away.

Those are the words to the beginning of the refrain. I have heard them in English, I have heard them in Gaelic and Italian and Spanish, but no tongue carries the yearning and loss like French. My eyes closed and I enveloped myself in the bittersweet comfort of a sound that gave voice to what I felt inside. Why should Jared act so coldly to me? I haven’t done anything! Anger rose in me at the thoughts milling about in my head. Jared was being so stupid! Was his head filled with rocks? I kept singing, but I have no doubt that my emotions carried my voice further.