Playing

 

 

SAMMY’S piano teacher, Anson Charles, had been one of his favorite parts of growing up. Now that he was majoring in music and securing appearances and jobs of his own as he attended college, he kept his schedule open for Anson’s music lessons, mostly so he could share them with Letty and Keenan and they could fall in love with music too.

Letty sat, tongue between her teeth, and tinkled out a delicate version of “Heart and Soul” while Keenan sprawled on the club chair in the corner, waiting for his turn with little grace.

Every time Letty hit a wrong note, Keenan flopped around like a fish, his grimaces of pain almost audible—although he had, as of yet, not violated the strict “no criticism” stricture of lessons.

Sammy and Anson met long-suffering glances over Letty’s head as she knuckled down to play, and then Sammy bit the bullet and glared at Keenan.

“What?” Keenan mouthed, and Sammy just glared. “Fine!” Again, the mobile mouth made the word, but no sound whatsoever came out.

Letty’s music massacre was nearing its end, and Sammy turned a disgusted shoulder toward her brother so he could applaud her efforts. And it had been an effort—the poor baby had practiced that song to death over the last week. She didn’t deserve to have her brother pick over the corpse.

“Good job, Letty!” Sammy crowed when the last broken note hovered in the air. “You worked so hard!” Letty’s little scrunch-cheeked face beamed up at him, and her flyaway ponytail bobbed.

“Thank you, Sammy,” she said, grinning. “I want to be as good as you!”

“You keep working like that, Princess,” Sammy told her, “and you will be.”

Keenan’s muffled howl didn’t even ping her radar—but Anson picked up on it.

“No, no, young man,” Anson said, his teacher voice in full force, “Sammy’s right. Your papa, Tino—when he was only a little older than Sammy, he couldn’t play at all. But he’s been practicing and practicing, and now he’s very proficient.”

If Tino had been there, he would have winked at Sammy and whispered that “Proficient wasn’t talented,” and Sammy would have winked back. Sammy’s uncle Tino had embraced piano lessons in his early twenties—but he’d always been very vocal about the difference between his hard work and Sammy’s natural gift. In fact, Tino had been the one to advocate to his husband, Sammy’s uncle Channing, that Sammy should continue his education in music as an actual career.

Sammy was really hoping for some of Tino’s advocacy this particular night, as a matter of fact.

But first….

“Okay, Keenan,” Sammy wheedled. “I know you’re trying very hard not to give your sister a hard time for being six years old as she plays piano, but it’s your turn to come on up and show us what a nine-year-old can do.”

Keenan looked a little abashed as he came up from the overstuffed chair. “That was really nice, Letty,” he mumbled stiltedly. “But it’s my turn now.”

Letty smiled at him in complete innocence. “Thank you, Keenan—that’s so nice of you to say. Here, let me move my music—you’ve been working really hard too.” Chirpy as a bird, Letty moved her stuff out of her brother’s way and scurried to the audience chair Keenan had just been having a conniption fit in.

Sammy and Anson both pinned Keenan with a meaningful glare.

Keenan’s hunched shoulders and shame-face told a story of total repentance, so Sammy decided to let it go for the moment.

“Now that you’re here, what have you been practicing?”

Keenan pulled out his sheet music and smiled, biting his lower lip in excitement. “Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir,’” he said proudly.

Sammy fought the temptation to smack his forehead with his palm.

Keenan was bright—and very talented on the piano in his own right. But boy, could this kid show off like nothing else.

And “Kashmir” was an eight-minute song, which really sucked, because for once, Sammy wanted to be first at the door when Tino and Channing got home.

“Kee, I may have to go talk to your dads before you’re done,” Sammy apologized, but Anson stopped him with the same glare he’d just given Keenan.

“If it’s about the job, it can wait until your little brother’s song is over,” he said in the exact same tone of voice he’d used to chastise Sammy when he’d been younger. Of course Sammy deserved it now as he’d deserved it then—he’d been a much-indulged only child of a single mother when she’d been killed in a car accident, and his uncle Channing had immediately made Sammy his priority. When Tino and Channing had gotten together not long after, Tino had made Sammy his priority as well.

Sammy had a long history of being the center of everybody’s universe.

He’d been nearly twelve when his uncles had adopted Keenan, and he’d resolved to himself that the new baby would get the same benefit of being the center of the universe, just like Sammy had been. When Letty had come along, he’d worked hard at training Keenan to be the best big brother possible. As embarrassing as it was, at twenty-one years of age, Sammy still needed to remember those same lessons.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy said, flushing. “Of course. Go ahead and play, Kee. I’ll be here.”

God, “Kashmir” was a long damned song.

Toward the end, the front door opened and closed. One tall man with a touch of silver in his blond hair and another midsized, with still-black curls, walked into the music room. They were both impeccably attired—Channing, the tall one, had been an unrepentant clothes whore since Sammy could remember, and Tino had been his eager acolyte from the moment they’d started dating.

Sammy liked to think of them as Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson—the CEO superheroes of Northern California.

Or Uncle Channing and Tino—the men who had raised him and loved him like a son.

Keenan finished with a flourish and then grinned up at Channing and Tino, accomplishment written in each pale brown dimple. “Did you like?” he asked excitedly. “You heard?”

Channing laughed. “You’re supposed to wait until we applaud! Oh my God, kid, you’re shameless!”

Keenan rushed forward for a hug, and Tino looked to see Letty, trying hard to still the wobble of her lower lip.

“Aw, Letty baby,” Tino said softly, crouching down by the overstuffed chair. “We got here a little late—would you like to play your piece again?”

“Yes, Daddy!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. “Can I? Can I please?” She implored Channing with her eyes. “Daddy, please?”

“Course.” Channing held out his arms. “But I’d really like a hug before you start.”

“Can I have more too?” Keenan was just old enough to maybe be too proud to give hugs—but just young enough to want to make sure he was loved as much as his sister.

“Are we still giving him extra hugs?” Channing asked Tino, a twinkle in his eye.

“I thought so. You may be too old for them, but I’m not!”

Keenan rushed in, hugging them both, and the family greeting commenced. Sammy glanced over at Anson a little guiltily to see if he minded waiting, but the older man was looking at Sammy’s uncles with unabashed sentimentality.

“My husband and I thought about adopting,” Anson said quietly. “But it really wasn’t done then. Seeing your family now—it makes me really happy.”

Sammy’s mouth fell open, and his chest ached. Not have this? His brother and sister? His uncles? The idea of not having this anchor, this haven of love in his life, hurt Sammy on a physical level. He couldn’t imagine not having a family—and not planning to add to it either.

“I’m grateful every day,” he said. And it was a good thing he’d resolved that, right then, because it would make him so much more patient when dealing with his uncles later.

 

 

“YOU’LL be going where?” Channing asked—after Letty’s second performance, and after Anson stayed for dinner before taking his leave. Letty and Keenan were upstairs taking their baths and getting ready for bed, and Sammy had taken his courage in both hands and asked his question.

“Well, I’ll be part of an after-school program, teaching music to middle school kids in the cafeteria.” That was part one of the plan. “But see, when I went to interview with the teacher overseeing the after-school program, I drove by an, uh, establishment”—dive bar—“that was offering auditions. So I’d have two jobs this semester, one after school in—”

“Del Paso Heights,” Channing said flatly, not fooled in the least.

“And the other one on Fridays in, uh—”

“Del Paso Heights,” Tino added, a smirk on his face that indicated he wasn’t buying it either.

“It’s not as bad as everyone says it is,” Sammy told them both, believing it.

Channing laughed. “No—no, it’s not. I believe you there, Sammy—the news covers the neighborhood differently because it’s diverse. I know that. And I think teaching piano at the after-school program is a wonderful idea. I couldn’t ask for a better part-time job for you. That’s not the problem.”

“I can do it!” Sammy smiled brightly, hoping… hoping….

“You can play in a dive bar in an admittedly not-great neighborhood into the small hours of the night when you’re barely twenty-one and prone to nosebleeds and dizzy spells? Not on your life.”

“Augh!” He’d wanted that part—wanted it so bad! “The nosebleeds thing is a low blow,” he muttered.

“You really thought you could slide the crappy neighborhood dive bar in without us noticing?” Tino asked, enchanted. “Really? Like the two of us would just walk in without a functioning cerebral cortex and sort of consign your fate to the four winds? ‘Here, Channing, let’s take your beloved nephew and throw him to the wolves! They won’t bite hard!’”

“Sure, Tino—it’s not like he looks about twelve years old and is so unaware of his surroundings I’ve almost seen him get killed at a crosswalk—”

“That was once!” Sammy protested, wincing.

“It was in front of your own damned school, Sammy!” Channing threw his hands up in classic father frustration pose. “I love you! I would rather you not walk out of work and into a knife fight one night because you were so up in your head you just forgot there were drunk assholes outside with knives.”

Sammy sighed. “But it was a chance to perform,” he said plaintively. “Professionally! And to practice in front of an audience and get better!”

“Have you applied to that restaurant I told you about?” Channing asked patiently.

“Yes. I’m calling back tomorrow.”

“Good. The summer touring job?”

“Applied for, and I audition in a few weeks,” he said promptly. He was actually looking forward to that, and he knew Channing had done a great deal of work to make sure the school even had that program.

Channing blew out a breath as though this appeased him. “Okay, that’s good to hear. And the school fellowships?”

“They’re all taken.”

Tino and Channing exchanged glances. “Because…?” Tino asked leadingly.

“Because I didn’t apply because they were all out of state and I didn’t want to leave,” Sammy muttered.

Tino and Channing grimaced. “Welp,” Tino sighed.

“Yup,” Channing seconded.

“Can’t argue with that one, kid.” Tino opened his arms, and Sammy ran into them, just like Keenan had earlier. “We like you here,” Tino admitted, holding him as tightly as any father could. “We’re not ready for you to leave. But we’d rather have you leave and come visit and be safe than….”

“Than get killed in a knife fight when you didn’t see the knife,” Channing finished, coming up for his portion of the hug.

“I’ll apply next year,” Sammy promised, caving.

“Only if you want to. And if your health holds up,” Channing added sternly, but Sammy ignored him.

“And this spring I’ll stick to the middle school.”

“That is a very good idea,” Channing said, squeezing for extra good measure.

Sammy pulled back and grimaced. “I should call Dodgy and tell him I can’t do it.”

The disappointment of not getting the job was almost worth watching their twin blinks of disbelief and alarm.

“Dodgy?” Tino asked, like he was listening to Letty tell him the best story.

“That was going to be your boss?” Channing clarified. “Dodgy? You were seriously going to go work for a guy named—”

“Dodgy!” Sammy taunted. “Yup. I was gonna go work for Dodgy. You got any other questions?”

“Yeah.” Channing folded his arms with considerable glee. “Last I heard, you were going to be responsible for Letty and Keenan after school this semester. Remember?”

“Oh God,” Sammy muttered, face flushing. He’d forgotten entirely about that.

“That’s right, pal,” Channing continued, relentless as only a first-rate negotiator could be. “Art lessons, dance lessons, fuck-all oh my? This teaching gig sounds like it’s in prime run-the-kids-ragged time. Do you have any ideas about who’s going to do that?”

“Aw, man.” He had twelve units this semester, all of them in the morning. He was out of school by 11:00 a.m. He’d told Channing and Tino he could take on some of the kid responsibilities—because he liked those responsibilities, dammit. “Yeah. Hell.” His shoulders slumped. “Dammit.”

“Channing, I think this job is a good thing,” Tino said softly. He bit his lip in thought, and Sammy was reminded of how much younger Tino was than Sammy’s uncle Channing. Tino had been only a little older than Sammy was now when he’d knocked on the door, delivering his sister’s dinner boxes, and allowed himself to get sucked into Sammy and Channing’s lives.

Tino was an empathetic ally.

“I do too,” Channing muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you think Lance or Gwennie could do it?”

Tino grimaced. “Lance is graduating this year—he’s got eighteen units including his internship. I think that’s a no-go.”

“Really? God, he grew up fast. What about Gwennie?”

“Gwennie’s going to Europe this semester,” Sammy supplied. Arthur, Tino’s buddy from college, had gotten his degree but stayed working as a warehouse employee in a drapery service. His little brother and sister, on the other hand, were apparently out to set the world on fire. Sammy had harbored a crush on Gwennie as a teenager, having watched her grow from a chubby adolescent to a stunning adult and been mightily impressed. But Gwennie was a year older than Sammy, and somewhere in that spare year, she’d moved right out of his league and into an art fellowship in Italy.

“Oh my God!” Channing muttered. “Who gave these kids permission to grow up? What in the hell? Everybody’s fired!”

Tino grabbed his hand and kissed his temple. “Yeah, baby. They all washed out of the Channing Lowell Corporation of Life by growing up and getting jobs. All fired. It’s a thing.”

“Shut up,” Channing grumbled. “I’m just saying—your sister Elena’s getting married and moving to the Bay Area. Carrie got her degree, and we had to hire a new maid. Taylor’s getting his degree, and he’s not watching Jacob and Nica’s kids anymore. When did all these kids in our house get to be adults, and how do we keep it from happening with Letty and Keenan? I don’t like it at all!”

Tino kissed his cheek. “I’m still young and hot. Does that count for something?”

Channing broke his pout long enough for a quick smile. “Yeah, sure. But it doesn’t help us find anybody to help shuttle the kids around.”

“Let’s face it.” Tino leaned his chin on Channing’s shoulder. “We might just have to hire a—”

A knock at the door cut him off.

“I’ll get that,” Sammy volunteered, mostly so he didn’t have to see Channing so sad. He knew it happened to all adults—it had to. That’s why they always exclaimed over how much children had grown. People measured their own lives in the faces of the children around them—it was inevitable, like time.

He was so preoccupied with his musing on mortality that he almost forgot why he was opening the door.

“Brandon?” Technically the gigantic auburn-haired construction worker at the door wasn’t related to Sammy in any way. Tino’s sister was married to Brandon’s cousin, which should have made them… well, boyfriends, because besides Gwennie, Brandon had been Sammy’s biggest crush in high school. But Brandon and Taylor had been love at first fight, and Sammy had stopped worrying about his love life and started investing himself in his music and education.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to see Brandon now.

“Heya, Sammy,” Brandon said with a tired smile. He stepped back, swinging a full pink duffel bag over his shoulder. The bag sported shiny creases and that bright petrol smell of new plastic. “C’mon, Felicity. This is Sammy—remember, I told you we were taking you to a family.”

The girl who stepped forward displayed a mix of genetics—long, straight brown hair, a round face, faintly almond-shaped hazel eyes. She eyed Sammy distrustfully for a moment while Sammy summoned his best smile.

“Uh, hi, Felicity! I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting anybody, but come on in.” Sammy had known Brandon for a long time, and they had one of those eyeball conversations in family language that could happen between cousins or brothers or spouses. “Hey, I think Brandon needs to talk to my uncles. How about I take you to the kitchen? We’ve got some leftover meatloaf or some cookies—either of those sound good?”

He watched her swallow with such fervency he was pretty sure she’d missed dinner. “Meatloaf?”

“And lasagna from last night.” He stepped aside and ushered her through the door. “Come on. Let’s get you fed, and then it’s cartoon time for the little kids. You can join them if you like.”

She bit her lip. “I have homework,” she said in a small, wobbly voice, showing him a worn and fraying backpack. “Can I do that and watch cartoons?”

Sammy met Brandon’s gaze again and saw only compassion and resolve. “Yeah,” Sammy said, smiling. “Dinner first, homework and cartoons next—then cookies!” He made his voice bright, and she smiled at him worshipfully and followed him to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Brandon was having a low-voiced, intense discussion with Channing and Tino in the study Sammy had just vacated, and Felicity was working on the lasagna chaser to the meatloaf she’d practically inhaled.

Sammy took her plate to the sink and started rinsing things off to put in the dishwasher. Gretchen, their housekeeper, didn’t live with them like Carrie had, and he didn’t like leaving crusty dishes until morning. Gretchen had an entire family to feed, and she’d been strictly business from the moment she’d been hired. Sammy didn’t mind that—it wasn’t a housekeeper’s job to be family—but he missed the camaraderie of Carrie with her warmth and her infectious smile.

“So,” Sammy said casually, “you skipped dinner?”

Felicity looked up from gulping milk. “I forgot my lunch,” she admitted. “And Coop tries to make me take a breakfast bar or something when I leave in the morning, but I spaced that too.”

“Oh no!” Sammy closed the dishwasher and propped himself up on the stool kitty-corner to her. “That’s awful. I used to skip lunch on purpose if I didn’t like the food, but I was sneaky. I’d only do it when Tino was picking me up from school, because I knew he’d take me through the drive-thru and I’d get a milkshake.”

He grinned at her, expecting a smile back, but he got embarrassment, and she avoided his gaze. “Coop can’t afford drive-thru,” she whispered. “He can barely afford me, but he tries real hard.”

Oh. Sammy resisted the temptation to look around the big kitchen, with its bright blue tile and worn center island. The window overlooked the pool patio and everything. The entire house must have been sort of a shock for a girl who couldn’t afford drive-thru.

“Where’s Coop now?” he asked gently.

Her eyes grew bright and spilled over. “Brandon said he got hurt at work. Brandon showed me pictures of him and this other scary-looking guy with an eye patch standing next to Coop’s bed in the hospital.” She looked at Sammy pleadingly. “They told me they’d bring me somewhere safe, because Coop was hurt, and this place is nice and all, but I really miss Cooper.”

Sammy nodded. Memories assailed him, memories of being young and of missing his mother so fiercely his whole body hurt. “I’ve missed someone like that before,” he told her gently. “It’s really hard. But you’re here now. You’re safe.” He smiled gently. “We have a refrigerator full of food.”

She blessed him with a small smile.

“So your dad—”

“He’s not my dad, really.” Felicity wrinkled her nose. “He was my foster brother, but he aged out.” She looked away, and he knew enough about kids to recognize an untold truth. “I, uh… well, he offered to take me in. It’s sort of unofficial.”

Sammy nodded, thinking grimly that someone who couldn’t afford drive-thru had probably not offered to care for a young girl—but he probably did because he wanted to.

“So he was in the pictures. How’d he look?”

“He was smiling. He had a bandage on his head and his shoulder and ribs too, but he didn’t look scared.” That thought seemed to cheer her, and her smile grew stronger.

“Good. So he’s going to be okay, you think?”

She nodded and wiped her eyes again. “I hope so. He’s the only one who wants me.”

Sammy let out a sigh. “Now that’s not true. I know you haven’t met them yet, but Keenan and Letty are going to want you until you beg for mercy. They love older kids. You’re going to be better than cookies, trust me.”

Felicity smiled a little. “I miss that,” she said. “About foster homes. All the kids.”

At that moment a herd of elephants thundered down the staircase that led to the bedrooms.

“Well, by the time Cooper gets better, you may long for a little peace and quiet,” Sammy told her, just as Keenan burst in wearing Stormtrooper pajamas with little beads of water still clinging to his tightly buzzed curls.

“Are you coming?” he demanded impatiently. “Steven Universe is new tonight!”

Felicity looked up, her wan face lighting up truly for the first time. “Steven Universe?”

“It’s our favorite,” Letty said, pattering in wearing purple pajamas with pink hearts. Her hair was a wet bird’s nest, spiking all over her head. “Who are you?”

“Guys, this is Felicity. I have the feeling she’s going to be staying with us for a while, and you know what?”

“What?” Letty asked, raising her arms. Sammy swung her up and positioned her on his hip.

“I have another feeling that she’s going to love our nightly routine.”

Felicity was good to her word, getting out her homework from a folder marked Sylvan Middle School. She sat and figured math problems, nibbling on her cookie and looking up occasionally to laugh at Steven Universe.

“Felicity, I’m going to go bring Tino and Channing in so you can get to know them, okay? Keep an eye on the little kids for me.”

She nodded seriously, although “keeping an eye on the little kids” was really not necessary during cartoon time. It didn’t seem to matter—he’d given her cookies and a responsibility, and the girl seemed absolutely intent on getting along.

When he entered the study, Channing was sitting at his desk, Tino stood with his back to the door, and Brandon was making his case earnestly in the middle of the room, hands flailing.

“We didn’t even know he was taking care of this girl. I talked to Taylor, and I guess after he aged out he went back to visit, and she followed him home, hysterical. She was barely nine, and she had to walk across town. When he called the foster family, they didn’t even know she’d gone. The next time she ran away, he just….”

“Kept her,” Tino said softly. “We get it, Brandon. Your employee isn’t a kidnapper—he’s a good guy. But we have other children here. You can’t just expect us to—”

“We can keep her,” Sammy said hurriedly. “She’s nice. I like her.”

Channing turned toward him with raised eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you having a busy day.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Tino muttered and then turned to smile tiredly at Sammy. “Sammy, you can’t just keep a girl—”

“She’s good,” Sammy said a little desperately. “She’s so happy to just sit and do homework with Keenan and Letty—”

“But we don’t know anything about her!” Channing half laughed, as though surprised they were talking about this.

“Well, you didn’t know anything about Keenan and Letty either! You just opened up your home and took care of them!”

“They were babies,” Channing said with desperate gentleness.

Sammy turned to Tino, who had known him when he’d been grief-stricken and angry. “I wasn’t,” he said softly, appealing to the man who’d been hardly a grown-up when he’d stepped in and agreed to parent a hurt little kid. “I wasn’t a baby. And I was….” He half laughed—much like Channing, actually. “I was horrible,” he finished. “I was a nightmare, and my life could have been so awful, but you stepped in, and you were so kind….”

Tino was gazing at him with a faint smile on his face. “You were pretty horrible,” he said, his eyes bright. He turned to Channing, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s meet them, at least,” Tino said, in that tone of voice that Sammy usually associated with him doing business on the phone, when he sounded like a badass.

Channing’s mouth actually dropped open. “You’re not… you can’t be… why would you…?”

“Because,” Tino said, shrugging. “The house is enormous. If my sister can shove a sixth kid in a house half this size, and love it and drive it around in a Honda Odyssey filled to the freaking gills, the least we can do is talk to this girl. Talk to Cooper. See what we have here.” His mouth compressed, and his expression turned puckish. “C’mon, Channing Lowell, you used to go out of your way to convince me you were this guy, remember?”

Channing’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not that cute,” he muttered, like he couldn’t figure out why he was doing this.

Sammy practically jumped on top of Tino in a giant bear hug. “Thank you! Thank you, Uncle Tino! You’re the greatest! You’ll love her! I swear!”

“Weren’t you just asking me for permission to ditch out on your little brother and sister?” Channing asked, throwing his hands up in the air.

Sammy dropped Tino so quickly he stumbled. “Crap.”

“Wait,” Tino said thoughtfully, not even giving Sammy an evil look. “When does your job start?”

“Two weeks.” Oh, come on, Tino, come on. You’re so smart—you can think this through!

“Actually,” Brandon said, voice thoughtful, “two weeks might be perfect.”

All eyes turned to him.

“Cooper will be getting out next week sometime. Give him—” He grimaced. “Forgive me, guys, but if he could recuperate here, with the housekeeper and someone to fix meals and assist him with Felicity, he should be ready to help with kid duties by the time Sammy starts his new job.”

“Didn’t you say he fell off a roof?” Channing asked, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, yeah, but once the concussion has healed, it’s bruised ribs and an arm in a sling. Cooper didn’t break any bones—just tore some ligaments. I mean, it’s not permanent. And….” Brandon grimaced again. “He needs to do something else besides work construction.”

“Why?” Sammy asked, curious. Felicity had seemed damned loyal to the guy.

“Well, he’s good at it because he’s smart,” Brandon said with sigh. “But he’s bad at it because he’s not big—and he keeps trying to do big-guy things. He won’t ask for help. It’s something I can’t break him of either.” He shook his head. “Frustrating as hell.”

“So, see?” Sammy said, fighting off the desire to meet this mysterious Cooper. “Once he’s on his feet, I can teach him the routines here. Then, when it’s time for me to work, he can take over as nanny until he figures out something else to do.”

“That’s convenient,” Tino said dryly, and Sammy shot him an unrepentant grin.

“What are you?” Channing asked after a pause. He stood and held his arms out for a hug. “A teacher or a musician?”

Sammy grinned and moved into Channing’s embrace. “Today I’m both,” he said, feeling very proud of himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” Channing muttered, but Sammy had won. It didn’t happen often, but he knew what it sounded like, so he could savor it.