Chapter 2: The Question
Clara stood anyway, brushing imaginary dust from her apron, the ease of the moment already folding back into employee posture.
“I only meant to keep them occupied until the evening sitter arrived,” she said. “The instruments are theirs. From the playroom. I should have asked.”
“How long?” Julian asked.
She hesitated. “A few weeks. After homework. Before supper. They were restless. The house is… very quiet in the afternoons.”
Quiet. He had paid for quiet. He had hired people to maintain quiet. He had mistaken quiet for order.
Leo held up the guitar. “Clara showed me three chords. I can almost do the first one without looking.”
Toby added, “I keep the beat. Clara says the beat is the boss.”
Julian’s throat worked. He stepped into the room, lowered himself onto the edge of the nearest armchair, and looked at his sons as if he had not properly seen them in a long time. Perhaps he had not.
“Show me,” he said.
Clara glanced at him, uncertain, then nodded once at the boys. Leo’s fingers found the frets. Toby counted under his breath. Clara hummed the pitch to start them, and the three of them produced a crooked, sincere version of the same song. It was not polished. It was alive.
When it ended, Toby crawled into Clara’s space without thinking, the way children did with people they trusted. Leo watched his father’s face with careful hope.
May you like
Julian heard himself say, “Again.”
They played it again.
