can start playing now if you’d like,” I
ask Grace since she’s the birthday girl.
“That’d be lovely, darling.” Grace takes her
place on a chair at the round table beside the playground. The
others follow suit. I pull a chair in front of them, set my guitar
on my lap, and play the song I sang for the movie. Adam closes his
eyes soon after I start singing. Grace is rocking gently side to
side to the rhythm, a peaceful smile curling her lips. Soon, the
twins find their spots under her arms and rock together with her,
Adriana sitting beside them. Even the baby girl, Joanne, is paying
attention to my song. When the song finishes, I continue with
another of mine that I wrote years ago, about what love can
endure.
“It’s beautiful.” I hear Grace whisper. The
next songs follow, some from mine, others from romantic classics. I
can’t help but feel the rush of emotions overwhelming me through my
music. And apparently, I’m not the only one, because I spot tears
rolling down Grace’s face.
“Oh, Mom.” Adriana says and, before I know
it, she jumps from her seat and hugs her mother. Then her little
daughter, Joan, mimics her, then her husband. Soon the entire
family is wrapped up like a big snowball around Grace, with tears
covering their faces. Except for Adam. Once he notices what’s going
on, he springs to his feet and strides toward the house.
I stop in the middle of the song. “Did I do
something wrong?”
Grace raises her hand to wipe the tears away.
“Absolutely not, honey. Your songs brought back some wonderful
memories.”
Adriana chimes in. “Your voice is something
special. I’m glad the harpist ditched us.”
Embarrassed, I drop my gaze to my guitar.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, darling,” Grace says. “Your voice
is pure from heaven. I couldn’t have had a better birthday
present.”
“What’s with Adam?” Nikki motions toward the
house.
“Shall I go check up on him?” I ask. Grace
nods, and I place my guitar inside its case and walk inside the
house to find Adam leaning on the counter in the kitchen, his back
turned to me.
I move toward him, leaning my back against
the counter next to him. “Too ashamed to show your tears?”
He looks at me. I’m taken aback that his eyes
are indeed wet with tears.
He tears a paper towel and dries his face.
“I’m not a macho man.”
“What made you run away like a little puppy,
then?”
“I can’t bear seeing my mother cry, even
though they are tears of joy. I’ve seen her crying enough times
that I can’t handle it anymore.” His voice cracks. He looks so
vulnerable and fragile, as though he’s not this huge, muscled
mass.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” A strong urge to hug and
comfort him fills me. I lift my hand and hold his arm gently,
unable to ignore the firm biceps jumping under my touch.
A sudden beep startles us. “The oven,” Adam
points out, walking away to turn it off. Grabbing a pair of oven
mitts, he pulls an enormous enamel pot out of the oven and
carefully places it in front of the window, facing the
backyard.
“Smells amazing,” I say, trying to sneak a
peek of the food when Adam opens the lid. I’m famished, and the
sight of the beef sizzling inside the pot isn’t helping.
“Nikki, Brendie, time to get busy,” Adam
shouts through the window. Thank God!
The girls run inside and set about carrying
wine glasses and china, and placing them on the large rectangular
table in the living room. The table is ready in a matter of
minutes. This tells me the two are well-practiced in terms of doing
the side chores.
As if sniffing the delicious smell of the
food, two more people arrive. An older man, who is Adam’s carbon
copy save for the grey shades in his hair and lines around his
eyes, introduces himself to me. “Dr. Peter Garnett, but you can
call me Peter. And this is my daughter number two, Eleanor.”
I shake hands with Peter and Eleanor. She’s
the only blonde among the five siblings, taking after
ask Grace since she’s the birthday girl.
“That’d be lovely, darling.” Grace takes her
place on a chair at the round table beside the playground. The
others follow suit. I pull a chair in front of them, set my guitar
on my lap, and play the song I sang for the movie. Adam closes his
eyes soon after I start singing. Grace is rocking gently side to
side to the rhythm, a peaceful smile curling her lips. Soon, the
twins find their spots under her arms and rock together with her,
Adriana sitting beside them. Even the baby girl, Joanne, is paying
attention to my song. When the song finishes, I continue with
another of mine that I wrote years ago, about what love can
endure.
“It’s beautiful.” I hear Grace whisper. The
next songs follow, some from mine, others from romantic classics. I
can’t help but feel the rush of emotions overwhelming me through my
music. And apparently, I’m not the only one, because I spot tears
rolling down Grace’s face.
“Oh, Mom.” Adriana says and, before I know
it, she jumps from her seat and hugs her mother. Then her little
daughter, Joan, mimics her, then her husband. Soon the entire
family is wrapped up like a big snowball around Grace, with tears
covering their faces. Except for Adam. Once he notices what’s going
on, he springs to his feet and strides toward the house.
I stop in the middle of the song. “Did I do
something wrong?”
Grace raises her hand to wipe the tears away.
“Absolutely not, honey. Your songs brought back some wonderful
memories.”
Adriana chimes in. “Your voice is something
special. I’m glad the harpist ditched us.”
Embarrassed, I drop my gaze to my guitar.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, darling,” Grace says. “Your voice
is pure from heaven. I couldn’t have had a better birthday
present.”
“What’s with Adam?” Nikki motions toward the
house.
“Shall I go check up on him?” I ask. Grace
nods, and I place my guitar inside its case and walk inside the
house to find Adam leaning on the counter in the kitchen, his back
turned to me.
I move toward him, leaning my back against
the counter next to him. “Too ashamed to show your tears?”
He looks at me. I’m taken aback that his eyes
are indeed wet with tears.
He tears a paper towel and dries his face.
“I’m not a macho man.”
“What made you run away like a little puppy,
then?”
“I can’t bear seeing my mother cry, even
though they are tears of joy. I’ve seen her crying enough times
that I can’t handle it anymore.” His voice cracks. He looks so
vulnerable and fragile, as though he’s not this huge, muscled
mass.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” A strong urge to hug and
comfort him fills me. I lift my hand and hold his arm gently,
unable to ignore the firm biceps jumping under my touch.
A sudden beep startles us. “The oven,” Adam
points out, walking away to turn it off. Grabbing a pair of oven
mitts, he pulls an enormous enamel pot out of the oven and
carefully places it in front of the window, facing the
backyard.
“Smells amazing,” I say, trying to sneak a
peek of the food when Adam opens the lid. I’m famished, and the
sight of the beef sizzling inside the pot isn’t helping.
“Nikki, Brendie, time to get busy,” Adam
shouts through the window. Thank God!
The girls run inside and set about carrying
wine glasses and china, and placing them on the large rectangular
table in the living room. The table is ready in a matter of
minutes. This tells me the two are well-practiced in terms of doing
the side chores.
As if sniffing the delicious smell of the
food, two more people arrive. An older man, who is Adam’s carbon
copy save for the grey shades in his hair and lines around his
eyes, introduces himself to me. “Dr. Peter Garnett, but you can
call me Peter. And this is my daughter number two, Eleanor.”
I shake hands with Peter and Eleanor. She’s
the only blonde among the five siblings, taking after
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