Page 74 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterNineteen

The next few days rushed by in a flurry of assembling furniture, filling shelves and cupboards, buying rugs and blinds and everything needed to make Kendrick’s house his home. The nights were for trying out all that new furniture. In every room. Repeatedly. Emma had never enjoyed an organizing job more, although Kendrick was a lot more adept at their nighttime activities than their daytime ones.

“Tell me again why I’m supposed to label these?” Kendrick asked. He was sitting on the floor in front of the low hutch they’d installed in the music room. He held a label maker in one hand, and a set of plastic storage containers in the other. He looked adorably lost.

“Start as you mean to go on,” Emma said. “If you do it the right way now, you’ll never have to think about it again.”

Kendrick pointed to his previous organization system for his sheet music and concert programs—cardboard boxes he’d scrawled on with a sharpie. “You assume I thought about it before.”

“You do realize you’re making my point for me?”

“This is going to take forever.” He looked up at her with soft eyes. “You don’t think I could go back to assembling furniture? Because I got really proficient with that Allen wrench.”

Emma planted a kiss on top of his head. He was waiting for her to tell him that he was good at screwing, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Remember the golden rule of organization. Just for now means permanent.”

The following Friday, Emma put the finishing touches on Kendrick’s house and took advantage of the late afternoon light to take pictures. She couldn’t wait to put them on her website.

The soft gray and lavender walls might look too delicate, but the extensive polished woodwork, especially around the windows and the fireplace, made a bolder statement. Until she’d actually placed the furniture, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure how its modern lines would look with the antique finishes of the house, but like a melody line and its counterpoint, the effect was harmony.

She glanced out the window where Kendrick was mowing the lawn. He’d called himself a true American suburbanite, excited to fire up the new machine for the first time. She rested her hands on the windowsill, ignoring the roar of the mower while enjoying the sight.

Kendrick paused to wipe his forehead with the tail of his t-shirt, and then took the whole thing off and cast it onto the front porch. The V of his back and the way his jeans clung to his backside made her mouth water. Kendrick made graceful arcs through the yard, his steps light, moving smoothly around the plants next to the house. Those overgrown rosebushes still bothered Emma, but they were a comfort to Kendrick, so why not let them stay?

She had one last thing to do before this project was complete. She went out to her truck and brought in the little fountain she’d discovered on her first walk-through of the kitchen. She’d cleaned it and fixed the pump. All it needed was some water and it would make a sentimental focal point on the mantel. She got it going and watched the water pour into the three levels of shells, down to the rocks, then cycle through again.

She stepped back to take in the bigger picture, then rearranged a candle and a vase on the mantelpiece and stepped back again. Perfect. Now to show Kendrick.

She heard him before she saw him. He was singing in that quiet way he did when he was working. Something must have inspired him while he was mowing, something worth coming inside to write down. He rushed to the piano and snatched up the printout of his current composition. He penciled in new notes, scribbled out others, and then hummed the new version.

He sat for a moment, rubbing his right ear. He’d been doing that a lot lately, most often when he was composing, as if he could heal it through music, or magically make it better. He’d gotten lab results back and was starting his first treatment at the Ohio State Medical Clinic tomorrow. It seemed like a very big deal to her, but Kendrick wanted to keep that part of his life separate, and changed the subject whenever it came up.

Emma approached him from his left side, marveling for a moment how that had become so automatic for her so quickly. She touched his shoulder and he flipped over his manuscript paper, hiding it from her eyes.

“How’s the lawn?” she asked.

“Almost done.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “I had to write this down.”

“Do you have a minute?” she asked. “I want to show you something.”

She led him to the front parlor, which was now his living room. She flourished her hands toward the fireplace.

“What did you—oh.” Kendrick’s eyes widened when he spotted his grandmother’s little fountain burbling atop the mantel. “I remember this from when I was a kid. I haven’t seen it in years.”

“It probably hasn’t worked in years,” Emma said. “I found it in the back of a kitchen cupboard. It needed cleaning and a new switch.”

“So you…” His voice faded. He blinked rapidly.

“I know you said to get rid of everything in the house, but I thought you might want this. It doesn’t go with the rest of the décor, but—”

“No, it’s um…” Kendrick’s voice was thick. He swallowed. “I remember Grandmother having this when I was small. It was one of her favorite things. Why discard it just because it had one broken part?”

Emma took his hand. “She held onto it. She obviously loved it.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right. She probably thought it was fixable.”

“Or worth keeping even if it wasn’t perfect,” Emma said, hoping he’d understand her meaning.

Kendrick put his arms around her. He was still shirtless, sweaty from yard work, with the scent of grass and sunshine clinging to him. The fountain burbled in the background. The refrigerator hummed. A car roared by on the street.