The House in the Cerulean Sea(70)

He opened the door to find Arthur standing on the porch, peacoat pulled tightly around him. The nights were growing cooler, the wind off the sea carrying a bite to it. Arthur’s hair was ruffled on his head, and Linus wondered what it felt like.

“Good evening,” Arthur said quietly.

Linus nodded. “Arthur. Is something wrong?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Oh? What is it—”

“Do you mind?” Arthur asked, nodding toward the house. “I’ve brought you something.”

Linus squinted. “You have? I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I know. You wouldn’t.”

Before Linus could even begin to ask what that meant, Arthur bent over and picked up a wooden box that lay at his feet on the porch. Linus took a step back, and Arthur entered the guest house.

Linus closed the door behind him as Arthur went into the living room. He glanced down at the report sitting in the chair, but didn’t appear to try and read what was written upon it. “Working late?”

“I am,” Linus said slowly. “Finishing up, in fact. I hope you didn’t come here to ask me what I’ve written. You know I can’t tell you. The reports will be made available to you upon completion of the investigation as outlined in—”

“I didn’t come here to ask about your reports.”

That threw Linus off-kilter. “You didn’t? Then why are you here?”

“As I’ve said, I brought you something. A gift. Here. Let me show you.” He set the box he carried down on the little table next to Linus’s chair. He lifted the lid with his graceful fingers.

Linus was intrigued. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been given a gift. Back at the office, birthday cards were passed around each year for the caseworkers, each signing their name with an inauthentic Best Wishes! for whoever’s birthday it was. The cards were cheap and impersonal, but Linus supposed it was the thought that counted. And aside from the holiday luncheon that Extremely Upper Management put on—which was no gift at all—Linus hadn’t received anything from anyone in a long time. His mother had long since passed, and even then, she’d only given him socks or a wool hat or trousers that she told him he would have to grow into because they were dear, and money didn’t grow on trees, honestly, Linus.

“What is it?” he asked, more eager than he would have expected. He coughed. “What I meant to say was, I don’t need anything from you.”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “It’s not about need, Linus. That’s not what gift giving is for. It’s about the joy that someone is thinking of you.”

Linus felt his skin warm. “You were … thinking about me?”

“Constantly. Though I can’t claim credit for this. No, this was Lucy’s idea.”

“Oh my,” Linus breathed. “I don’t know if I want a dead animal or some such thing.”

Arthur chuckled as he looked down at the opened box. “That’s good. If you should have wanted a dead animal, I am certainly going about this the wrong way. I’m thrilled to say that this isn’t something that used to be alive, though it can sound like it is.”

Linus wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what was in the box, exactly. Arthur was blocking it with his thin frame, and while Linus couldn’t smell anything off-putting, or hear anything squeaking such as an overgrown rat with beady eyes, he was still hesitant. “Well, then. What is it?”

“Why don’t you come over here and see?”

Linus took a deep breath and walked slowly toward Arthur. He cursed that the man was so tall. He would have to stand right next to him in order to be able to see what was inside.

He chided himself. He doubted Arthur would allow Lucy to do anything untoward. At dinner, Lucy had been grinning at Linus the whole time, and though it had the same devilish tinge to it, Linus didn’t think it was nefarious. Granted, Lucy was literally the son of the Devil and had probably perfected innocence long ago.

He hoped it wouldn’t explode. He didn’t like explosions, especially if he had to stand so close to one.

But it wasn’t a bomb. It wasn’t a rat, or a dead, rotting carcass.

It was a vintage portable record player. Across the inside of the lid of the box was the word ZENITH, the Z in the shape of a lightning bolt.

Linus gasped. “Look at this! It’s wonderful. Why, I don’t think I’ve seen such a thing in a very long time, and even then, it was only through store windows! The Victrola I have at home is much too large. And I know the sound isn’t as grand from these little portables, but I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take music with you wherever you went. Like perhaps on a picnic or something.” He was babbling, and he didn’t know why. He closed his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth.

Arthur smiled. “Lucy hoped you would react as such. He wanted to be here to give it to you himself, but decided it would be best coming from me.”

Linus shook his head. “It’s thoughtful. Please tell him thank you for— No. I can do it myself tomorrow. First thing. At breakfast!” Then another thought struck him. “Oh, but I don’t have any records to play. I didn’t even think to bring any from home. And even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have run the risk. They’re flimsy, and I wouldn’t like to see them break.”