But Aunt Judy’s ready to spoil us. She sits trays of little roll sandwiches, fruit, and cookies out on the table and offers us iced tea. We add to our plates, and she asks us questions about how we met, my classes, and which building I live in. She asks about my family, and I tell her we’ve lived all over, but they’re in Cookeville now.
“Are they singers like you?” she asks.
“Ma’am?” I answer in confusion.
“Our boy says you’re a fabulous singer and you have a good ear. I just wondered if your family sang together.” She smiles at me sweetly.
I look over at Daniel, who makes a face and looks away like he heard nothing.
“Really? Well, that’s sweet. I love music, and I love to sing, but I wouldn’t call myself a singer. I don’t perform or anything. Not since high school choir.”
“She will for me,” Daniel announces confidently. “She promised she would sing with me for my birthday, and I know which songs she can’t refuse.”
He knows a few things I can’t refuse, and it’s getting out of hand.
Aunt Judy’s face lights up. “Isn’t that just how it is, Lucy? Some songs are so enchanting.”
How can I not love a woman who uses the wordenchanting? I want her to adopt me.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly the word for it. I’m addicted.”
“She’s not lying.” Daniel grins, subtly leaning into me. “I had to take away her ’80s hair metal or neither of us would’ve made it here.”
Aunt Judy nods and smiles politely, probably not quite sure what he meant by that, but I know.
“Oh, I know someone who wanted to play more Mötley Crüe than Chopin during his lessons. He played ‘Home Sweet Home’ until I heard it in my sleep!” Aunt Judy beams at the memory.
My eyes dart to Daniel. “You played ‘Home Sweet Home’ duringlessons?” I cannot contain myself. This is the best thing I’ve heard all day. Aunt Judy knows Mötley Crüe.
“Oh, didn’t you know, sweetheart? I’ve taught music for forty-five years. Our boy sat in my music room nearly every day after school. We had a deal that he could choose his own song to master every time he learned one that I chose. He’s quite talented. Shall we make him perform for us?”
“Make me?” Daniel playfully scoffs. “I’m not a dancing monkey.”
“Absolutely, yes!” I nearly squeal.
We’re always singing, and all the guys are excellent guitarists, but I love DC on bass. I’ve seen him play keys and drums too, though not as much. Not enough to tell how proficient he might be, but he’s good at everything, so I should’ve known he had years of training.
We toss our paper plates into the trash, and I ask if I should take plates out to Uncle Dale and Uncle Pete, but she assures me they ate before we got there so they’d be ready to work.
Following her out of the kitchen, we step into a large den with a baby grand piano, keyboards, several guitars, an electric bass, violins, and a drum set, along with chairs and a sofa on one end.
My eyes grow wide. I had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t all this. Daniel leads me to a stool next to the baby grand and pulls one over for Aunt Judy as well. He’s as excited as I am. We’re so much alike in this way, but I don’t have even a hint of his talent or training.
I was in choirs all through elementary school. The more serious ones in middle and high school got me a few years of basic sight-reading, voice lessons, and some competitions, but I only know a few chords on the guitar without a chart. My skill level is best suited for the living room or fall bonfire kind of situations—definitely not for public viewing. I wouldn’t even call myself a musician.
He runs his fingers over a few keys, and I know right away what he’s playing. He hands Aunt Judy a violin. “Play this with me. Lucy loves it.”
Violin? Huh, that never occurred to me. Aunt Judy checks her tuning, and I see she knew the song in two notes as well.
Daniel grins and plays the opening notes of “Faithfully,” and Aunt Judy joins him. When he begins to sing, my heart wants to climb out of my chest. This man is playing a rock power ballad with his great aunt. If it gets any sweeter, I’ll be leaving this place with cavities.
I love his voice. There’s a lazy rasp in his baritone that adds emotion to everything he sings. I hum along a bit but don’t sing yet. They finish, and he goes right into a quirky old Christian rock song from the ’70s.
He probably thinks I don’t know it, but what I lack in talent, I make up for in geek-level knowledge of classic rock.
When I jump in and sing with him, he gives a loud, “Wooooooo!”
Aunt Judy claps, smiling ear to ear. He laughs when we finish, leaning over to side-squeeze me. “I don’t know how you know that song, but I’m somehow not surprised.”
