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8
Saturday afternoon, Chris found himself outside on the hammock with his guitar once again, strumming a familiar tune, “Amazing Grace.” It was one of the first songs he’d learned, one he’d often played at church. Then again, most of the songs he had played back then were church songs. The others, the popular tunes he’d taught himself, he only played when no one else could hear. Funny that now no one else was around, he was back to playing those old hymns.
Something rustled to his left, and he glanced up to find Luke standing in the Hollingers’ yard, staring at him.
“Hey, Luke. Happy birthday.” Chris waved encouragingly, but the boy didn’t move, so Chris went back to playing.
After a few minutes, Chris looked up again when he heard leaves crunching under slight steps. Luke was slowly crossing the yard to him, the little boy’s eyes locked on Chris’s fingers as they glided over the strings. He stopped strumming when Luke stood about a foot away from him. “So, how old are you today? Seven?”
No answer.
“Seventeen, then. Got your driver’s license and everything, huh? Going to go out and cause some trouble?”
Luke only stared at the instrument in Chris’s hands.
“Interested in the guitar?”
Nothing.
“Do you want me to play something for you?”
Finally, Luke’s eyes flickered from the guitar to Chris and back.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative. What do you want to hear?” Chris flipped through his mental rolodex of songs. Admittedly, it was not very long. He was an actor not a musician, but he could play something for Luke. “You like the Beatles?”
He started “Blackbird,” and Luke’s eyes got a bit brighter, his fingers settled from their slight flapping. As Chris began to sing, Luke tilted his head forward, intent on listening. Although as soon as the song was over, Luke started shuffling.
“Do you want to hear it again?” Chris asked.
Luke nodded.
“All right.” Chris held out his hand, motioning the boy over. “But this time, do you want to stand next to me? You can help me play.”
Luke followed his direction, a smile threatening his lips.
“You’re a Paul McCartney fan, huh?” Chris grinned. “Me too. Okay, buddy, do you want to hold the pick? Is it okay if I put my hands on yours?” Luke nodded, and Chris gently placed his fingers over Luke’s so they could strum together.
With the help of his new friend, Chris began again, and sometime during the second chorus, Luke started humming, leaning in closer to Chris, almost allowing their shoulders to touch.
Noise sounded from somewhere in front of him, yet Chris ignored it, too caught up in the moment. Luke’s voice was barely above a whisper, but his lips imitated every sound Chris made, and by the end, the boy was full-out smiling.
“That was great. Really, really great,” Chris said, reaching a hand out to Luke’s shoulder.
He didn’t shy away from the touch, and Chris finally looked up, away from Luke, his grin immediately dropping when he spied the entire Hollinger clan, frozen, mouths gaping open. Chris gently nudged Luke aside, handing him the guitar pick, and stood up. “Uh, hey, everybody, we were…” His eyes drifted down to Luke, who’d taken to shuffling and flapping. “Jamming.”
Fitz and Amanda scooped up Luke for a hug as Pattie walked over to Chris. “That was beautiful. I think we’re all amazed, to say the least.”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal.” He shrugged, forcing a laugh past the lump in his throat. “Everybody loves the Beatles.”
Pattie rubbed his back. “Looks like it. Let’s all go back inside. Time for cake. What do you think, Lukie-poo?”
Luke didn’t answer, but his eyes did move over to Chris and the guitar in his hand.
“Maybe we can play again another day,” Chris offered.
“’Nother day,” Luke repeated.
Fitz patted his son’s head and escorted him back to the yard as Pattie invited Chris over. “For cake,” she said. “No encore necessary.”
