6
Harrison
The yelling metmy ears before I left my car. I’d traveled up solo from LA in my Mercedes and was ready to stretch my legs and move around. My steps slowed, crunching in the gravel of George’s driveway as I pricked my ears to listen. Not yelling, a form of singing.
Collette seemed to be testing the capacity of her lungs while simultaneously beating her fists against the piano.
I flinched as I reached for the door. “Hello?” I called, ducking my head to look past the foyer. Sure enough, Collette was “practicing” at the piano, where we had put on our show before I left at Christmas. She sang a song centered around macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, and bologna. She didn’t notice my arrival as in the moment as she was.
When she paused to take a large inhale in, a much more distressing sound made itself known.
Georgewasyelling.
I dropped my weekender bag and ran down the hallway to his office. As I got closer, I heard another voice, soothing, rich, and a little raspy.
“George. It’s me, Francesca. Frankie.”
Collette noticed me as I ran down the hall.
“Scarecrow!” she called after me.
She launched her entire body weight at my leg, buckling it and almost knocking me down. Her arms and legs gripped to barnacle herself to me just outside George’s office. “I’ve missed you most of all,” she said.
“I don’t know who the bloody hell you think you are, but you have no right!” George’s muffled yell came through, followed by a crash of what sounded like a heavily tombed hardback slamming against a desk. My heart lurched with alarm, but I didn’t want to frighten Collette.
Collette stared up at me in hesitant horror. “Papa George used a bad word.”
“Pretend you didn’t hear that.” I unsuckered Collette from my leg and hefted her up into my arms. “Missed you too, Dorothy.”
“I’m a kitty now. Not Dorothy. Don’t worry, I still likeWizard of Oz. But Dorothy was before yesterday.”
“Right. Noted.” A pair of faux animal ears made of sparkles sat in her auburn curls.
“A lot can change in lots of days,” she said with a hint of peevishness.
“No doubt about that,” I said.
Another crash and yell came from the other side of the door. I fought the urge to storm in proverbial guns blazing. I loved Collette’s reaction to seeing me, but I couldn’t focus on one single thing as my attention was split between her and the conflict. My palms went sweaty as I held her, glancing back to the door.
She scrunched her tiny face up. “Papa George is upset.” Collette stuck out her bottom lip as she grabbed my cheeks and squeezed them with both hands. “I like your beard better. You look weird now.”
“Thank you for the feedback.”
She squished my cheeks together even harder, face twisting in concentration. “At least it’s not as pokey.”
“Dats chew,” I said, lips puckered like a duck. I shook my head to free myself. “Can you go practice more? I need to check in on the grown-ups.”
“Okay. I’ll play my new song. I’m really good.”
“I heard.” I set her down, and she zipped down the hall.
I gently pushed open the door. George stood at his desk, trying to lift his ancient typewriter protectively in his arms. Frankie stood on the other side, palms up, hardly moving.
“I won’t let you have it!” George bellowed.
“I’m not trying to steal it. I’m helping you. You hired me.” To her credit, Frankie was calm, her face open and friendly, patiently waiting and not matching George’s chaotic energy. Her gaze flicked in my direction and snagged. Her eyes widened briefly before returning to normal.
“Hello, Harrison,” she said calmly, showing very little emotion.
