“Propitiation.”
Mary turned. “Not you too.”
He began playing louder. “His dad loved that word,” he said. “Used it all the time.”
Mary spoke above the music, and the space between her eyes narrowed. “You know I can’t follow you when you start using fifty-dollar words. What’s it mean?”
“It means a payment that satisfies all debts. It also describes a seat on a rather important box, but that’s another story.”
“Big-Big,” I said to him, “this is Daley Cross.”
He smiled, his huge hands walking up and down the keys, and made an effort to glance over his shoulder. “Ms. Daley Cross. I knowed that name. How you doing, honey? Welcome to the hymn sing.”
The nurses were gathering residents in their beds, wheelchairs, and favorite chairs in a circle around the piano. Ms. Fox sat with her knitting on her knees, mumbling to herself about Renny and when he was going to pick her up. Mr. Barnes was standing in the corner wearing his customary logging boots and gown and that’s it. Nothing else. Ms. Phillips was sitting in her wheelchair, taking her teeth out and putting them back in. Ms. Anderson was sleeping in her bed, which the nurses had slid up against the wall. And Mr. Simpson was sitting on a stool looking expectantly at me. The rest were talking quietly amongst themselves. To my knowledge, the only things all these people had in common were that they all lived at Riverview and they had all known my father.
I reached into the closet and pulled out a few extra instruments. I placed three five-gallon buckets upside down in front of Mr. Simpson and a set of sticks in his hands. Then I handed one tambourine to Ms. Fox and laid another beside Ms. Anderson’s sleeping hand. Ms. Philips received a single handbell. I started tuning my D-35.
Big-Big didn’t wait for an answer from Daley. “Now you just sit down right here next to me,” he said, “and let me hear that angel’s voice I done hear’d so much about. Let’s you and me school this young’un in how a real voice makes music.”
Big-Big was still independent enough to live on his own, but a few years ago he’d sold his house in town and I’d helped him move into one of the condos scattered around the Riverview property. Single-unit dwellings with a fabulous view of the Collegiates, they’re close enough for a resident to get help if needed. But he could come and go as he liked, and either make his own meals or eat inside with everyone else. It was independent living for the I-don’t-know-how-much-longer-I’ll-be-independent.
One of the nurses had lit the projector and was sitting at a laptop to scroll the words on the wall. Daley sat down next to me and was about to whisper something when Big-Big rolled into one of my favorites. His voice was custom-made for this one. “When the roll is called up yonder . . .”
I came in behind him, filling in the empty space with my guitar as his peace-filled bellow reached down inside me and made every wrong thing right. Within a few words, Daley came in quietly, singing harmony. Big-Big smiled and swayed his head. After waking everybody up, he transitioned into “I’ll Be a Sunbeam” and a perennial house favorite, “In the Garden.”
Soon Daley was standing next to Mary, clapping and singing. Mr. Simpson was keeping near perfect time on the bucket-drums, and the percussionists were filling in nicely with tambourine and bell. At one point Ms. Philips dropped her teeth, which skidded across the floor next to the piano. Surprised but not overly grossed out, Daley picked them up and handed them back. Ms. Philips quickly reinstalled them, smiled widely, and continued the timely ringing of her single bell. Impressed with her initiative, Mr. Barnes stepped into the center of the room and extended his hand, asking Daley to dance during the chorus of “Blessed Assurance.” She modestly accepted and held her own with a ninety-two-year-old man in an off-tempo do-si-do. Although she
Aj Harmon, Christopher Harmon