The Violin Conspiracy(25)

He stood still, as if she wouldn’t know he was up here, as if she’d just give up and go away.

“You hear me? Ray! Get down here right now.”

Reluctantly he left the box stack and threaded through the attic, back down into the main house.

“Boy, you are a hot mess,” she observed. “Go wash up and change your shirt.”

He lifted the attic stairs back into position.

“It’s not there, sweetie,” she said gently. “Nobody’s ever seen that thing. Your grandpa probably sold it years ago and never told her.”

“She said it’s up there.”

“She wants to believe it’s up there. She’s an old lady. She gets confused.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“You know if you did find it, you can’t have it, right?” Aunt Joyce went on. He realized, only then, that his family must think that he wanted it for himself. He tried to tell her but she was saying, “We don’t know what all is in this house. When Mama passes, we’ll have to sort it all out. Including that fiddle, if it’s even still here.”

“I just wanted to see it,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I just wanted to play it like she wants me to. Like her PopPop. I just want to play it for her.”

He finished searching the attic on Christmas Eve, before they left for the annual Christmas picture at the mall. He refolded the flaps on the last box in the last corner. PopPop’s fiddle wasn’t up there. Grandma Nora had assured him it was: an alligator-skin case with a loose handle. There was no way she was just a confused old lady like Aunt Joyce had said. She remembered the loose handle, hadn’t she? She knew she’d never gotten rid of it, didn’t she? Had she been lying to him, laughing at him all this time, snickering as she listened to him thumping around for all those hours?

His misery and confusion made it impossible for him to speak on the car ride to the mall. When they arrived, as soon as the picture was taken, he went off on his own to the music store. Violins, guitars, and other stringed instruments hung like pinned butterflies against an entire wall. There were only three brands of violins to choose from—the cheapest was $500, a shiny version of his school violin, which was unacceptable. The step-up violin was a Roth that hung behind the counter with a Christmas-sale price tag of $1,049.

The clerk, a scrawny guy in his midthirties, kept scowling at Ray.

Ray had $930 in his bank account. Could he ask Grandma Nora to loan him a little extra? She’d probably give him fifty dollars as a Christmas present—she’d done that in the past, so he only needed a little more. He could pay her back out of money from the next gig with Aiden.

Back at home, after the family finished eating, they trickled into the living room, where the Christmas tree twinkled. Dozens of gifts poured from the tree skirt. As usual, Grandma Nora sat in her La-Z-Boy. Also as usual, each of Grandma Nora’s children chose two gifts: one to give to a sibling and one to give to each of their children.

After opening his presents—a pale blue dress shirt, three pairs of pants, several pairs of socks, and a fine haul of Amazon gift cards—he watched the littler kids open Nintendo games and remote-control cars, screaming in excitement and searching for batteries. When the living room was a sea of discarded wrapping paper, ribbon, and Christmas cards, the adults all stood to give Grandma Nora her annual family gift. This year it was a new set of cookware. Grandma Nora, still in her chair, beamed. “Oh, thank y’all. I needed a new skillet.”

“All right! Time for the game!” Uncle Thurston reached for the remote. The younger kids, rejuvenated, were chasing one another. Aunt Joyce and Aunt Rochelle headed toward the dining room to clean up. Ray, loaded with his presents, headed upstairs. Maybe he’d watch a YouTube video of the New York Philharmonic playing Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol. Ray wanted to play the violin solos in that piece.

The volume level had increased in the house, so Ray was almost out the door before he heard Grandma Nora, who’d apparently been shouting in her tiny voice. “Hang on a minute! I have one more present to give out. Hang on!”

“One more? Wait, everyone,” Aunt Joyce bellowed. Ray looked back from the hallway.

With some difficulty, Grandma Nora was reaching under her chair. One of his cousins tried to help, and she gently swatted his hand away. She pulled out a long slender box wrapped in green-and-red-striped paper.

“What’s that?” Aunt Rochelle said.

“Don’t you worry about it. It’s for Ray.”

Everyone turned to stare at Ray, who stared back cluelessly.

“Mama has a gift for you, son.” Uncle Larry, standing behind him, elbowed Ray in the side. “Go get it. Game’s starting in two minutes.”

‘You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, baby. But you earned this. Here.”

The paper peeled away. Beneath was an alligator-skin fiddle case, a dull blackish brown, gray with mildew. The handle was loose.

Aunt Joyce said from somewhere behind him, “Oh my god.”

Was this possible? Was this a joke? Grandma would never play a joke this cruel. Gently, impossibly, he laid the case on the floor and stared at it for a moment before looking up at her. She was smiling.

“How—?”

“Go ahead. Open it.” Her eyes were shining.