Maggie set down her drink and headed over to help.
“That’s not even the name of the show,” she heard Savannah complain.
“I could’ve had the guy put the right name on there if you’d answered my texts,” Trigg replied.
Nadine got to work, saying nothing.
“I was a little bit busy today, Trigg.”
“Oh yeah? ’Cuz it sorta felt like you were just being—”
“Girls?” Maggie interrupted. “Having some trouble?” Savannah and Trigg sounded about one syllable away from total meltdown. Plus, the tape Trigg brought was too flimsy, and the heavy vinyl backdrop drooped feebly on the wall, ready to fall. Nadine plastered on strip after strip, trying to secure it.
“It’s just a play, Savannah. You need to calm down. It’s not my fault Mrs. Thornbird read it out loud.” Trigg’s face burned with the hot splotches of anger, like she was battling scarlet fever. “Poor Savannah. The star of the class again.”
“Oh, very nice! Is that why you told everyone what I’d said to you in confidence? Because you were jealous?”
Trigg didn’t answer, but instead, let go of the vinyl sheeting and walked away. It broke loose from the wall and landed on Nadine.
Chef Bart hustled across the room. “Let me,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve got something in the pantry heavy-duty enough to hold that up.”
Maggie mouthed a silent thank you at him and quickly helped Nadine guide the vinyl off her shoulders and onto the floor. Then she took Savannah’s hand and led her into the kitchen.
“What is happening with you and Trigg?”
Savannah was now burning as hot as her friend had been. “It’s this dumb one-act play I wrote for English class. It’s about a girl who sees her dead grandmother in her sleep and Trigg had to go and tell everyone that sometimes I see Mom.”
Maggie stroked her cheek. “Did you have another dream?” Bess regularly antagonized Maggie, but she treated Savannah differently, stepping into her daughter’s sleep to soothe her when she needed it most.
Not that Maggie believed in supernatural hoodoo-voodoo nonsense.
“It’s nothing.” Savannah huffed. “I mean, whatever. It’s just a few idiots. They’ll probably get so stoned this weekend they won’t even have enough brain cells left to remember on Monday.”
Maggie studied her granddaughter. “You have the right to feel hurt, Savannah.”
Thomas then burst through the door with Nico, Pete and the other member of their relay team whose name Maggie could never remember. “Hey, Maggie! Nico just bet Ro he couldn’t eat a dozen raw eggs. Do we have any?”
Maggie pointed toward the back door. “Take it outside, boys. I don’t even want to see.”
* * *
As the evening went on, the crowd began to thin. Trigg, who was supposed to sleep over after the party, had gone home, which perhaps had been a blessing. Savannah’s mood had improved significantly.
The remaining adults sat around in clusters of threes and fours, finishing drinks and the last of their stories, tired and nearly chatted out. Thomas and his friends, along with Nadine, huddled in the sunroom, laughing and recording theme songs.
Finally, Thomas emerged and hushed the group. “Listen to this.” When it was quiet, he clicked a button on his remote control.
Everyone waited.
First came the sound of children laughing, followed by the circus-like pipes of a calliope. For a moment, it sounded like a day at the park, the happy noise of a children’s playground. Then, even as the laughter and the pipes carried on in the background, there came a confused mash-up of bells and vibraphone and drum—audible chaos. That continued for a few confusing moments until suddenly, the loud CRASH of a gong. As the sound drifted away to silence, Nadine’s wisp of a voice broke through. “You know what they say... The kids are gonna ask.”
The room was still for no more than a beat, then thundered with applause.
Nadine blushed. Thomas beamed. His friends ran around the room slapping high fives with guests.
Even Savannah couldn’t help grinning. “That. Is. Cool! Nadine, you could do voice-overs, I swear.”
The piece, every part of it, was unexpected. Maggie felt as if her heart were about to leap from her chest, racing and jumping, her entire circulatory system applauding the music. “Play it again!” she shouted.
Thomas fiddled with the remote control. “Hang on, lost my place.”
He paused just long enough for Maggie to notice that her heart hadn’t slowed. It wasn’t racing as it had been a moment ago, but neither had it calmed. Instead, it seemed to have established a new rhythm, like an excited, dancing child. Not arrhythmic, and yet, entirely unique.
She stood, thinking she might just slip out to the kitchen for a glass of water, when Thomas hollered, “Got it!”
Again, the room filled with sound—the children and the pipes and the chaos and the crash.
Followed, note-for-note, by Maggie’s pirouetting heart.
How absolutely fascinating.
She brought a hand up under her ribs, far enough away from the undulation of her lungs to get a better feel for what was happening. She wasn’t frightened. The ol’ girl was still ticking, pumping blood where she needed it. But it was telling her something. It was beating in time to the music.
Seems fishy, Bess whispered.
A heart was never something to ignore. And Bess was right—it might be worrisome.
It could also be...utterly magical.
Seven
Thomas
“Do you have my keys?” Savannah ran through the kitchen. She was dressed for school, but nowhere near ready to leave.
“Did you look on the hook by the door?” said Thomas.
“Of course, I looked on the hook.” She threw her backpack down on the table and ripped open the pockets. “I swear. Why do we even have keys? As soon as they put everything I need on a microchip, I’ll be the first guinea pig in line.”
Thomas heard the keys jangling at the bottom of her bag.
“Have you even eaten yet?” she said, still rummaging. “We don’t have time for any drive-through stops this morning.”
“Not eating breakfast today.”
Savannah stopped digging and eyed him. “You never skip a chance to eat.”
“And we’re never late when it’s my turn to drive.” He walked over to the table and punched the bottom of her bag, rattling the keys. “Let’s go, Sherlock.”