Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(30)

“Maybe we should set up a concert.”

Her smile widened. “Maybe we should. I can’t wait for you to meet Meg. She has a knack for remembering almost everything she reads, which mostly consists of National Geographic books, and wants to be an archaeologist.” She took a bite of her dog.

“How about you? What do you want to do?”

She thought while she chewed and swallowed. “Something in music. I’d love to play piano professionally, but there aren’t a lot of jobs for concert pianists, if I was even good enough to get hired.”

“Why don’t you try?”

Annie thought for a second, rearranging her hot dog in her hands. “You have to get a degree in music and need credentials to apply. I don’t have either. And my grades in high school were good, but…I don’t know. It just didn’t seem possible to leave home. Maybe once I have my surgery, I’ll feel better about taking the leap.”

“After hearing you sing, I’m not at all surprised to learn you want to do something with music. I say go on and jump.”

She smiled. “One thing Mama and Daddy always saved for were my piano lessons. I think Daddy must have had a deal with my piano teacher, Mrs. Schlitzer. She always seemed to get his best work.”

I must have looked confused because she added, “He was a carpenter. They owned a shop on Main Street, packed with furniture and these little statues he used to whittle. He was always whittling something.” She laughed. “I swear, he never went anywhere without a block of wood and his pocket knife. And he could carve anything. He used to make me unicorns and ponies and princesses and knights. I still have them, but they’re not all here yet. The rest of our stuff is supposed to get here next week.”

“My dad worked with his hands too, but nothing so cool as a carpenter,” I said. “He was a plumber before his arthritis got bad. When my mom died, he just…he sort of fell apart. We had all moved back home to help out, but after that, we couldn’t leave him.”

Annie’s hands cradled her mostly eaten hot dog in her lap as she watched me with earnest eyes. “How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Lupus. It was long and cruel. And Pop couldn’t afford the medical bills, even after their insurance. Their savings disappeared right along with his ability to grip a wrench.”

“I’m sorry, Greg.”

I forced a smile. “It’s all right. I didn’t really have anything else going on. I have no passion that I can monetize. I figured out somewhere around sixteen that I was never going to be a pro skateboarder. I have a bachelor’s degree, but I don’t want to sit in some cube all day, pushing paper. I mean, maybe I will someday, but for now, I’m happy enough. And I make good money running the bar—really good money, considering. We’re taking care of Pop, and I’d never admit it to my brother and sister, but I actually like living with all of them. There’s something safe about it. That’s one place in the world I know I can go and will be loved without condition. Plus, they get it, you know? We’ve all felt the same loss, and some days, it feels like they’re the only people who will ever understand.”

“I know what you mean,” she said gently. “I feel the same way about my family.”

“When did you start playing piano?” I asked, anxious to change the subject. I polished off my first dog and moved on to the second.

“When I was six. They said I was a natural, but I think they were just trying to fluff me up. More than anything, I just loved it. It was almost like another language, one made of feelings.” She chuckled to herself. “I know how stupid that sounds, but that’s how it feels. Oh!” she started, reaching into her bag. “That reminds me; I’ve got the drawing for my tattoo. My sister did it for me. Mama isn’t happy about me getting a tattoo, but she didn’t put up much of a fight, just made a fuss about me taking antibiotics.”

“Antibiotics?”

She sighed. “A heart thing. I’m more prone to infections. I have to take them before going to the dentist too. Ah! Here it is.”

When her hand reappeared, it was holding a thick sheet of watercolor paper. As she angled it toward me, I saw a drawing of a music staff, but rather than notes, the lines bounced in jagged spikes, like heartbeats on tempo.

“Do you like it?” she asked with uncertainty.

“I…I love it. Where are you going to put it?”

“I was thinking here.” She turned to display her back and reached over her shoulder to tap between her shoulder blades.

“It’s gonna be perfect,” I said a little too softly and took a bite to stop myself from saying more. It cleared a third of the dog.

When she turned again, the sunbursts in her green eyes flaring with joy. “Oh, good. I feel like such a poser. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I think you’re doing great.”

She blushed. “Thanks.”

“So what’s next on the itinerary?” I asked, working on polishing off lunch.

“Let’s see.” Annie swapped the illustration for her schedule of the day. “We’re renting a bike, and you have been tasked with teaching me something I should have learned when I was six.”

I laughed around my last bite and dusted off my hands. “Yeah, how did that happen—or not happen?”