A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(17)

Everyone lets Mr. Terrance Knight and me sing the verses alone and they only sing the chorus. When we finish, we bow to the usual applause.

I gear up for another—I rarely get away with less than three—but Mr. Terrance Knight struggles to his feet and shuffles toward the window table where a couple other residents are playing cribbage. As he passes me, he gives me a look and nods toward the hallway. Standing there is the guy who chased me away from Ms. Li yesterday. Last night I learned he’s her grandson, David. He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been there awhile.

All those hours getting to know Ms. Li, we only talked about him a little. She said he was very close to his uncle Miles, her son whose heart stopped beating the previous weekend. She also said David was unhappy she moved to the Silver Sands instead of his house, but he understood her not wanting to be alone most of the time with everyone away at work and school.

He pushes off and walks over. I wonder if he’s going to snap at me again. It’s okay if he does—working here frequently makes me a target of misdirected emotions—I know it’s not personal. I just try to warm everything up, even when I’m not feeling particularly warm myself. It’s my job.

“Wow,” he says in a neutral tone. He’s doing this thing where his face is kind of sour except his eyes are open and relaxed, just like Ms. Li’s.

“Wow?” I say.

“As in, wow, you sing.”

I shrug. “Only because I love hearing Mr. Terrance Knight sing, and he won’t unless I join him.”

“Ah,” he says, as if this explains something.

He glances around, and then he leans forward, like he’s about to tell me something awkward. I feel a shot of adrenaline—is there toilet paper hanging out of my scrubs? Or worse?

He whispers, “You’re a terrible singer.”

I bark out a laugh. I hear a bit of Hurricane Joan in it.

“No, please, don’t hold back! If people aren’t honest with me, I’ll never get any better!”

David says somberly, “Glad to help.”

It’s true I’m a bad singer, but I can tell he’s just teasing. His straight face didn’t make it easy, though. I might not have realized it had I not just spent hours with his grandmother, getting a comprehensive lesson on the Li sense of humor, which clearly they share.

“Ms. Li tells me you’re a full David, not Davey or Dave anymore.” I stick out my right hand. “I’m Mel Hannigan.” I twist my other hand around to point at my name tag. “Yes, that’s my real name. No, it’s not a nickname.”

“So … you really want to shake my hand?” He says. Then, in a stuffy voice, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I drop my hand, embarrassed. Then I see his eyes crinkle …

“Oh, I get it.” I nod wisely. “You don’t like touching girls. That’s okay. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot there.”

He smiles. Then his eyebrows drop down a notch. “My grandmother says you played cards with her way past midnight. Thank you.”

“It was fun,” I say. “She’s a shark. Good thing we weren’t playing for money. I’m afraid to play poker with her.”

“Yes, definitely be afraid of that,” he says. “Anyway, I wanted to say thanks … and … I’m sorry I was a jerk yesterday.”

“I’m sorry about your uncle.”

I touch his forearm. It’s a reflex; I do it with residents all the time without thinking about it anymore. This is different but I realize it too late. I pull back as casually as I can while hoping my face isn’t turning as red as it feels.

“Thanks,” he says. “I have to get back. We’re unpacking all her stuff.”

“Okay. But … more importantly … about my singing?”

“Right, my honest opinion … A for effort. And guts.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll keep my day job.”

I watch David cross the room and disappear down the hall. I’ve heard people say only good friends can tease like we just did. I’ve never told anyone, but I don’t think talking this way is a reward. It’s an invitation, to skip over all that shaking hands and small talk nonsense and get on with the real stuff.

I accept.

*

Around noon I’m finally up to riding over to Zumi’s, or at least I can’t put it off anymore. When I get there no one answers the door. The car is gone, assuming they still have the same one. I’m partly relieved. But I can’t just leave the box on her porch.

I ride over to Connor’s. I feel bad about leaving him the box and the news, but it’ll be better coming from him. He and Zumi have been best friends since diapers. Their moms joke about how they were thrown together so soon after being born that they imprinted on each other.

When Connor answers the door I can’t tell if he’s surprised to see me. Before I can say anything, the door opens wider and there’s Zumi.

“What are you doing here?” she says, glancing at Connor like maybe he knows.

“I … I went to your house first.” I hold out the box. “This is for you guys.”

Connor reaches for it but Zumi stops him and asks, “What is it?”

“It’s some of your stuff, I guess. From Annie. She dropped it off last night—”