A hand touches my shoulder. The scent of her, warm and sweet like sun-ripened strawberries, reaches me before I turn.
I turn to find Sadie’s too-perceptive blue eyes examining me.
“It’s a beautiful piano,” she says.
“It’s the one I learned to play on. My mother taught me.”
“You have her eyes,” she says.
I turn to her, surprised.
Her cheeks color as she explains, “Jonah showed me some family photo albums. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m surprised he likes to look at those old pictures. He never got to meet her.”
“He’s curious. He says your dad tells him lots of stories about her. Marianne, right?”
“That’s right,” I say, voice a little husky.
Her elbow brushes mine as she leans in further to get a better look at the piano. “Will you teach Jonah to play?”
“I tried. He’s not interested yet. I don’t want to force it.”
“Does anyone play this one?”
“Not anymore.” My throat feels oddly tight as I say, “Once upon a time this house was filled with noise. With kids and music and craziness. And now… I think Dad gets lonely in this big house all alone. It’s why he likes to have Jonah over every weekend. Why he pushes these family dinners at every chance.”
Her hand lands on my arm again. Just as softly as before, but this time it stays.
“Y’all are lucky to have each other,” she says.
There’s so much longing in the way she says it. When I look at her face, it’s mirrored there too.
I think of what she’s told me of her family life. Only child. Her mother’s only caregiver. A good-for-nothing father, rottingaway on one of those riverboat casinos instead of basking in the light of his luminous, lovely daughter.
I feel a sudden rush of intense gladness that I brought her here tonight. A sudden desire to give her everything I can, in every way I'm able. In every way I'm allowed.
It's a short list, the things I'm allowed. But it's not empty.
I take her gently by the elbow and steer her toward the piano bench.
“Sit,” I say.
There’s an eyebrow raise at the command.
“Sit with me, Sadie,” I try, softer. “Please.”
She does.
I settle beside her, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her.
“You ever play?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“All right.” I reach over and take her hands. Turn them palm-up for just a moment, looking at them. Delicate hands, not calloused like mine but still just as capable. The kind that are always doing something for someone else.
I set them gently on the keys. “Curve your fingers a little.”
