Nia nudged Max’s arm with her nose.
Max, his face appearing flushed, gave a small bow.
“That was heavenly,” Anna said, wiping her eyes.
“Danke,” Max said. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“You’re crying,” Norbie said, looking at Anna.
“You are, too,” Anna said, pointing out tears on Norbie’s cheeks.
Norbie wiped his face. “Oh, so I am.” He stepped to Max and placed a hand on his shoulder. “My boy, you’ve turned me into a weepy mess.”
“Sorry,” Max said. “I do, however, have something that might lighten your mood.” He sat, placed his hands on the keys, and played Norbie’s favorite children’s folk song.
“‘Hänschen klein,’” Norbie said, beaming. He tapped his foot, proudly singing the verses out of tune.
Anna covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to contain her amusement. She gazed at Max.That’s so sweet of you to play that song for him.
After the piece was over, Norbie thanked Max for his musical performance and gave Anna a hug good night. Humming the tune to “Hänschen klein,” he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
Anna approached Max at the piano. “You made his night by playing that song.”
“Which one?” Max asked. “Prelude in E Minor or ‘Hänschen klein’?”
Anna chuckled.It feels good to laugh.
Max turned toward her. “Are you tired?”
“Nein,” Anna said, despite her exhaustion.
He slid over on the bench and patted the space beside him.
She sat, placing her hands on her lap.
“Thank you for encouraging me to play,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Anna said. “But I’m sure you would have found a way to resume your art with or without me.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was stuck in a mental, muddy morass, and you helped me to imagine hearing the undetectable notes.”
She paused, touching a piano key. “You’re the most talented pianist I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s very kind of you to say.” He nudged her with his knee. “Would it be impolite of me to ask how many piano performances you’ve attended?”
“Not many,” she said, “But I’ve listened to lots of professional pianist recordings on Norbie’s gramophone, and you are by far the best.”
“I’m honored.” Max drew a breath, placed his fingers on the keyboard, and he began to play.
The solemn, slow tempo piece began with gentle chord progressions. Anna’s breath slowed, and she closed her eyes. An image of tranquil waves lapping on a pebble shore filled her head. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “I’m unfamiliar with this one. Chopin?”
“Benesch.”
She turned to him. “Yours?”
Max nodded. He played a few more bars, then slowed to a stop.
“When did you compose it?”
