The House in the Cerulean Sea(71)

“Ah,” Arthur said. “Lucy thought of that too.” He pressed his thumb against a latch on the underside of the lid, and a little compartment opened. Inside was a blank white sleeve with a black record inside.

“What a marvel,” Linus said, itching to reach out and touch the box. “Where did this come from? It looks brand new.”

“I assure you it’s not. Quite old, actually. I’m sure you saw the many boxes in the attic when you went to see Theodore’s nest.”

He had. They were stacked off in the corners in the shadows. He’d wondered at them, but figured they were just evidence of a life of an old house. Material possessions tended to grow unabated when you least expected it. “I did.”

Arthur nodded. “It sat in a box near the back for the longest time. We haven’t had need for it, seeing as how we already have three record players in the house in use. Lucy, as he’s wont to do, discovered it while snooping. It was dusty and in need of a polish, but he was careful. Sal helped.” He looked down at it. “To be honest, we probably should have tested it before I brought it over. I’m not even sure if this old thing works.”

“And the record?”

Arthur shrugged. “Lucy wouldn’t let me see what it was. Said it was a surprise, but that he thought you would like it.”

That set Linus a little on edge, but less so than it would have when he first arrived on the island. “Well, I suppose we should find out if he’s right.”

Arthur took a step back. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Of course.” He took Arthur’s place and took the sleeve from the compartment. He slid the record out carefully. It too was blank, with no picture in the center frame. He set the sleeve aside as he placed the record on the platter, the small stacking spindle sticking up in the middle. He flipped the switch on the side of the player and was delighted when the record began to spin, crackling quietly. “I think we’re in business,” he murmured.

“It would appear so,” Arthur replied.

He lowered the needle. The speakers crackled a little louder. And then—

A man began to sing, saying darling, you send me, I know you send me.

“Sam Cooke,” Linus whispered. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Oh. Oh. That’s wonderful.”

He looked up to find Arthur staring at him just as Sam sang about how he thought it was infatuation, but that it had lasted so long.

Linus took a step back.

Arthur smiled. “Can we sit?”

Linus nodded, suddenly unsure of himself, which wasn’t anything new. The room felt stuffy, and he was light-headed. He was probably just tired. It’d been a long day.

He picked his report off the chair before sitting down. He set it on the table next to the record player as Sam continued on woo-wooing. Arthur sat in the remaining chair. Their feet were so close, Linus noticed, that if he extended his leg a little, the toes of their shoes would touch.

“I heard the strangest thing tonight,” Arthur said.

Linus looked up at him, hoping Arthur couldn’t read his thoughts on his face. “What would that be?”

“I was telling the children good night. I start in order, you know. From one end of the hall to the other. Lucy is always last, given that his room is in mine. But Sal is second to last. And before I knocked on his door, I heard some new, happy sounds that I did not expect.”

Linus fidgeted in his seat. “I’m sure it’s normal. He is a teenage boy, after all. They like to … explore. So long as you remind him that—”

“Oh my, no,” Arthur said, fighting a smile. “No, it wasn’t that.”

Linus’s eyes bulged. “Oh dear. That’s not—I didn’t mean—good heavens, what on earth is wrong with me?”

Arthur covered an obvious laugh with a cough. “I’m pleased to hear you’re so open-minded.”

Linus was sure he was terribly red. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“I can’t either, to be honest. Who knew Linus Baker could be so … you.”

“Yes, well, I would appreciate if it never left this house. Not to Zoe. And especially not to the children. Sal, of course, is old enough to understand such things, but I think it would destroy Chauncey’s innocence.” He frowned. “Not that I’m sure how he could ever do—does he even—oh no. No, no, no.”

Arthur snorted. “Lucy is younger than Chauncey. Don’t you think we should worry about his innocence too?”

Linus rolled his eyes. “We both know that isn’t a problem for him.”

“Too right. But, as I’m sure you’re now aware, I wasn’t speaking about … that.” The last word came out delightfully low, as if it curled around his tongue and teeth before exiting between his lips. Linus was instantly sweating. “I was talking about the clack of typewriter keys.”

Linus blinked. “Oh. That … makes sense, now that I think about it.”

“I bet it does. It was surprising, but not because it existed at all, but because it was much louder than usual. Most nights, it’s faintly muffled because he’s writing in his closet, the door shut.”

Linus understood now. “I didn’t—if I overstepped, I apologize.”

Arthur held up a hand as he shook his head. “Not at all. It was … more than I could have hoped for. I like to think it means he’s healing. And you played a part in that.”