Chapter 8 - The Living Room Restored
By four o'clock that afternoon, the transport crew had safely maneuvered the Steinway back through the front doors of Grandma's cottage on Lake Minnetonka.
They placed it down with millimeter precision on the exact indentation in the carpet where it had rested for three decades.
Aunt Joan and the private hospice nurses helped Grandma into her favorite wingback chair beside the living room windows. An oxygen concentrator hummed softly in the corner, but her breathing was stable, and her color had returned.
I wiped down the rosewood case with a soft cloth, carefully adjusting the music stand.
"It looks like it never left," Joan whispered, handing Grandma a cup of warm chamomile tea.
"Things that are loved always find their way home, Joan," Grandma said, watching me polish the keys.
My phone rang on the kitchen counter. It was Miles Wexler calling with an update from the county jail.
"Calvin was denied bail on his initial appearance due to flight risk concerns regarding his offshore business accounts," Miles informed me. "His firm’s accounts have been frozen by court order to secure restitution for the estate."
"What about Delaney?" I asked, looking through the kitchen window at the peaceful lake waters.
"The Mercedes was officially returned to the dealership this morning," Miles replied. "They refunded the purchase price directly into the court registry. Delaney tried to file an emergency injunction to keep the vehicle, but the judge laughed her attorney out of the courtroom."
"And Mom?"
"Your mother has moved into a downtown hotel using her personal credit card. She refused to speak with the public defender assigned to your father." Miles paused, his voice softening slightly. "Everett, you've done everything right. Focus on your grandmother."
"Thank you, Miles. For everything."
I hung up and returned to the living room. Grandma was watching the afternoon sun dip below the tree line, turning the lake into a sheet of amber glass.
"Come sit with me, Everett," she called softly, patting the edge of the piano bench.
I walked over and sat down beside her chair, taking her weathered hand into mine. Her skin was paper-thin, but her grip was surprisingly firm.
"You shouldn't have made that trip today, Grandma," I said gently. "You risked everything going to Ashb's house."
"I didn't risk anything, my boy," she replied, smiling softly. "A life spent hiding in bed to save a few extra days of breathing isn't much of a life. Seeing that piano returned to you was worth every breath I have left."
She looked at the black keys, her eyes sparkling with memories.
"Your father forgot that money is just paper," Grandma murmured. "He thought if he bought enough shiny things, people wouldn't notice the hollow space in his chest. I tried to teach him, Everett. I truly did."
"I know you did, Grandma."
"Promise me you'll teach your students on this piano," she whispered, her eyes beginning to droop with peaceful exhaustion. "Don't let it become a museum piece. Let children spill water on it. Let them bang wrong notes until they find the right ones."
"I promise," I said, a tear escaping my eye and landing on our joined hands.
She leaned her head back against the pillow with a small, contented sigh.
May you like
"Play me to sleep, Everett. Just scales. Nice and slow."
I turned toward the keyboard, rested my wrists with the gentle poise she had taught me twenty-five years ago, and began to play.
