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The insistent melody line of the oboe, followed by the swelling of the violins, caught Harold’s attention. He leaned his chin on his hand and listened intently as a mellow tenor voice began to croon.
Maybe I’m right, maybe I’m wrong
And maybe I’m weak, maybe I’m strong
But nevertheless I’m in love with you
When had he last heard this recording? He thought that it must have been during high school. Janet Murphy, a friend since first grade, had become a Nilsson devotee the moment she heard “Without You,” and from that point on, proceeded to buy every album the singer released. A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night had thrown her for a loop—a collection of pop standards from an artist well known for a song recommending that one “put de lime in de coconut” came as a bit of a shock—but Harold had found himself drawn to the album because it contained several old songs he had grown up listening to when his parents played their Sinatra records.
Maybe I’ll win, maybe I’ll lose
And maybe I’m in for crying the blues
But nevertheless I’m in love with you
Still, he had never bought a copy of the album for himself, and quite frankly, he had just about forgotten that it ever existed. At this moment, however, it seemed that the song was speaking directly to Harold, in a way that it never had before.
Somehow, I knew at a glance
The terrible chances I’m taking
Fine at the start
Then left with a heart that is breaking
No, this couldn’t work. It didn’t matter that Harold had fallen hopelessly, irretrievably in love. Were he to confess his feelings to John, certainly he would be let down kindly, but firmly.
Maybe I’ll live a life of regret
And maybe I’ll give much more than I’ll get
But nevertheless, I’m in love with you
No, Harold did not see any possibility of a happy ending to this situation. And yet, the lyrics of the song seemed to be urging him on. He was and always would be in love with John. While it would be embarrassing, certainly, to speak up and have John reject him, would it be any better to let his attachment grow while saying nothing?
Harold heard footsteps coming up behind him.
“Feeling sentimental today, Finch?”
Harold swiveled his chair to face John, responding wordlessly with a small, rueful smile and a shrug.
“What is it, Harold?” asked John, a look of concern spreading over his face.
It was time to make a choice. Harold took a deep breath and began.