The Brandywine Prophet

10.1 Young Love (Reprise)

Chapter Ten

YOUNG LOVE (REPRISE)

June

William Carmel’s piano didn’t belong in that house anymore. Despite the missing hydraulic lift and dysfunctional hatch, the instrument would now be the heart of his new home.

Piano, truck and maestro sat on the forest trail facing the daring angle of the paved hill. William sat on the ledge of Betty’s bed. Broken columns of sun burned through the treetop canopy, illuminating streaks of bugs and particles and falling into morphing lacework patterns across his hands and the lid of the grand piano. The legless instrument balanced at an angle on the ledge of the truck, strapped to the back with rope, twine, and a neon-orange ratchet strap, straining Betty’s shocks until her belly nearly touched her tires. The craftsmanship of ivory keys, cherry wood, and floral details were once pristine heirlooms to be coddled and shined, but yesterday William tossed the holy contraption on Betty’s back with the help of seven reluctant Brandywine locals, then hauled it over speed bumps, gravel roads and down Boulevard. If the instrument fell out of tune in the rugged trip from home to stage, so be it. Everything was a little out of tune these days.

Janie wore loose work jeans, a black and silver Sparkle Motion tee, and sneakers stained yellow from grass and mud. She stood on Betty’s open tailgate in a flat-footed arabesque penchée, right leg aimed at the sun, back parallel to the ground and stable enough to balance a house of cards. Petite arms were extended delicately like a marble statue of a goddess. Her head hung toward the ground like a limp marionette, but her eyes were focused on Will’s. “Play it for me,” she said.

William stiffened his back--giving him two extra inches of stature--and began the opening fragment of his new song on the in-transit piano. His left fingers could only create two-note bass chords, but his right hand worked the high notes into a legato requiem that set a new rhythm for the breathing forest.

Janie slid from her static pose into a series of graceful movements. Overhead branches parted at the perfect moment to create a sunbeam spotlight, furthering the comparison of Janie to goddess.

The song was brief. When he stopped, Janie plopped on the piano lid and dropped her sneakers on the keys with a clamor of bass. “I’m not learning a new dance for next week.”

“It won’t be finished,” William said. “I’m writing it for nationals. You’ll do your Swan Lake here, and this song in Chicago.”

“Can I switch songs like that?”

“I’ll talk to Pauline.”

“And the choreography?”

“We’ll work on it together. Do you like it?”

“It’s creepy.”

“But you like it?”

“It’s creepy, but yeah Dad, it’s gorgeous. You have time to finish before July?”

“It’s my first priority.”

Janie leaned back on her elbows. “Don’t you have bigger priorities?”

He raised his eyebrows, bushier than usual after six months without his preening companion. “You need to stop worrying about your old man. My only three priorities are my daughter, this stage and your mother. This song and your ballet cover all three.”

Janie slid her elbows back leaving a pair of clean streaks through the fresh coat of natural dust. She tilted her head and looked at the road upside-down. “Are we doing this tonight?”

“I don’t trust the two of us against that incline. I’ll toss a tarp over the truck and the Sparkle Motion crew can help on Friday. How’s that boy?”

“He’s fine.” Janie never expounded on her relationship with Chase and Will rarely prodded her. “Hyde’ll be home soon.”

William bumped Janie’s feet from the keys and lowered the cover. He twisted his body one leg at a time over Betty’s ledge and dropped to the path. “Then you better get back inside. You know what to do if it happens.”

Janie hopped off the piano, stepped over the straps and fell into her father’s arms.

William lifted her, twirled her, then released her on the ground. 

“Will you be home for dinner?” she asked.

He considered the approaching night, then fished out his wallet and gave her a twenty. “Order a pizza--our usual--and save me a slice.”

She nodded, smiled, then turned and jogged back to that house, now a fully human fixture with it’s spiffy new exterior of tan siding, burgundy shutters, plastic porch rails, and nifty bushes like upside-down Christmas tree ornaments. A pebbled cement walkway now lead from the driveway to the porch, passing through a garden of roses and weeds and rolling synthetic bulges of wood-chips. The grass was freshly seeded and Challo’s divot was leveled with a patch of too-green sod. A white fence extended from the front of the house and created a perfect, arbitrary perimeter. The transformation was a professional job, but looked to Will like a hooker in a wedding dress. 

Thanks to the new conformity and the debt from the home-equity loan, William’s mortal side became a bit more human.

But now it was over. After thirty years of dreading the defilement of his home, Will showed Jaxon the changes and Silverman & Binder officially approved the remodel.

Will relaxed his shoulder against Betty’s door and watched Janie disappear between the stables and hill. She was his angel. Not “angel” in the generic usage that dads toss around as a cheap pet name; Janie was his literal archangel. She was his right-hand servant keeping watch over struggling humans and reporting their sins. Her dedication was remarkable.

Hyde Whitaker, husband of Kayla Reid and boyfriend to lilapricot’93, awoke in William a new breed of anger. It was a hot anger like electric stove coils around his heart, slowly changing color from dark grey to brilliant orange. Most of all, it was a patient anger, perhaps tied to William’s changing mindset. Even with the initial prank, the countless lies, the purposeful destruction of Will’s marriage, the prank’s hundred ramifications including three lost fingers and millions of dollars, his infidelity to Kayla, the appropriation of Will’s separation story as his own (blaspheme!)... even with all of Hyde’s hatred and manipulation and disloyalty, William patiently awaited a change in the man’s heart as the coils grew hotter around his own.

His molars grated behind his tongue and pulled his cheeks back to a thin smile. He yanked the blue tarpaulin from the backseat of Betty’s cab, spread it out, tossed it over the piano and wedged the corners between the truck and instrument. He made certain the cover was secure by tugging the edge then stepped back into the brush to admire his work.

Hyde deserved free will like all humans. He made the decision to cheat on Kayla, but it wasn’t too late to turn back. The last month of apricot-chats consisted of benign talk about school and work, and when Hyde mentioned anything about their illicit relationship, Baylee signed off and ignored him for several chain-smoking days.

The girl was waiting for a proclamation. She wanted divorce.

If Hyde abused the free will that William bestowed and chose Baylee over the vows to his wife, the coils would snap and William would be forced to intervene.

In the meantime, the theater was waking from seven months of dormancy. William singlehandedly fought the dilapidation day and night and prepared the beast for Pauline Woodstock and her regional Sparkle Motion competition.

He opened the passenger door, popped the glovebox, then removed a stick of deodorant, a tube of toothpaste and a stack of notecards. He slammed and locked Betty’s door, pocketed the keys, toiletries, and cards, and started up the hill.