Maria Luna fell asleep one night on top of a hill overlooking the river. And as the moon beamed down on her ebony head, Maria had a dream that would change her life. She dreamed of being a famous musician.

She awoke the next morning like a child obsessed, mad for music. What a splendid awakening, you might say, but bear in mind that Maria was neither a child nor musical. And as much as Howard loved her, he knew that accordion had to go. The house was too small for the three of them. And since she quit her job at the fish-processing plant at the mouth of the Reed to practice full-time, their tiny nest was getting even smaller.

"Hey Maria, what say we go out for a little hike and toss that accordion off the cliff," Howard said one morning after listening to "Amazing Grace" for the one-hundred-and-thirty-eighth time before he'd even had his breakfast.

Maria looked at her former soul mate with sorrow in her eyes and heartburn in her heart. What happened to that sweet-talkin' guy she'd fallen for two years ago on the hard-rockin' floor of the Quinny saloon?

"Let's go up that cliff and throw you off," she said, annoyed at missing a count, then added, "and pass the Tums, please."

"Listen, Maria," he said as he tossed her the Tums, "I've 'bout had it with you and that squeezebox. And that song you're playing. What is it? Reminds me of Rippin' Rob's funeral party. It was a good party, mind, but—"

"It was a great party," snapped Maria, as she stopped mid-measure. "Everybody said so. And they said it wouldn't have been half as great if I hadn't been there with my 'squeezebox'."

"Yeah, they was all shit-faced and could still play better'an you." —Oh, God, Howard knew he'd gone too far. He could see she was hurt. Hurt to the very quick of Finger 3 on the bass hand.

Without raising her eyes to look at him, Maria pressed the air button. Slowly she drew in the bellows, pressed the lock straps into place, and gently laid her Hohner Student Two in its velvet-lined box.

She slumped down at the table, next to him. "What happened to us?"

"Ah, honey," he said, reaching for her, "you just got crazy on me. I can't even go in the Quinny anymore without some A-hole blasting me with 'What's the difference between a chainsaw and an accordion? A chainsaw can be tuned.' or 'Hey, Howard, what do accordion players use for contraceptives? Their personalities.'"

"Howard! How can you talk like that in front of me?"

"I'm sorry, babe, but you know, when I go to bed you're playing it, when I get up, you're at it again. It's like your whole life. In-out, in-out, in-out, and I'm not getting any."

"But Howard, don't you believe in destiny? If I'm going to be a famous accordion player, I have to practice. What about my dream?"

"I can't sleep on account'a your dream. And look atcha. Six months ago, you had blonde hair, now it's black. You changed your name from Linda to Maria. You go to mass. And you think you're I-talian for chrissake."

"Come on Howard, I told ya, it's an image thing. Ya gotta look the part. Take Celine. She's got that French accent workin' for her. Well I need something, too.... What about an I-talian accent? Think that'd work for me?"

"No! Aren't you listening, woman?!" he wailed, ready to polka the woman's lights out.

But the woman was listening. Listening and thinking. Writing a song in her head. She'd never done that before. Written a song. Maybe she could be a famous songwriter. Of course she could. It would just take a little practice, and maybe a cabin in the woods. All famous writers wrote in cabins.

"Let's go to Rob's old shack over on Quadra this weekend," said Maria.

"What? Just you and me?"

"Just you and me."

"No accordion."

"I'm finished with the accordion," she said, giving the little velvet-lined case a toe-numbing shove.

"Ah babe," said Howard as he slid over and squeezed her like a Concertina.

And as Howard hugged her and stroked her, Maria imagined herself in front of the fire scribbling love ballads as fast as her hand could move. Their thoughts now in perverse harmony, Howard began to sing, "Amazing Grace... how sweet the sound..."