Music to My Sorrow
Page 37
Without Eric's parents to interfere, his adoption of his brother—now, legally, his son—had gone through without any further hitches, and Michael and Fiona Banyon were comfortably installed at Fall River. The only family-related problem that Eric currently had was what to do with Magnus during the summer vacation. Next year would be Magnus's last year at Coenties & Arundel, and Magnus would have to start looking into colleges. Or else find a permanent drumming gig. . . .
But then Magnus himself came up with an answer.
Magnus would be going back to Boston. To school. But not just any school.
Magnus was going—and he was grimly determined about this—to Berklee College of Music.
"Look at this, bro!" he said, dragging Eric over to the computer, where he had the Berklee site pulled up, pointing to a course called "Making Music With a Garage Band." "These people live in the real world! They're into music real people listen to! They've got a network to get gigs, they teach how to be a road-manager, or a session-musician, or a film-score writer, you come out of there knowing what's what!"
Looking over the curriculum, Eric had to agree. Berklee certainly sent its graduates out into the world with a much better preparation for life as a commercial musician than did—say—Juilliard. Mind, anyone with a Bard's abilities was never going to starve, but—
But it looked as if, when you walked out of Berklee, you had all the tools you needed to make a living, and if you couldn't, it sure wasn't for lack of instruction.
So, when this last year was over, Magnus would be going to Boston's Back Bay, and Eric would be an empty nester.
Unless, of course, something happened between then and now. . . .
* * *
Hosea's article about Fairchild Ministries and the concert had been the cover story for Rolling Stone. Suddenly, as a writer, Hosea was very high on the radar. Before the summer was half gone, it was clear that his days as a busker were over.
Not that he minded, though for old-time's sake, he did keep his license current. But it was soon clear to him that writing for a living had a lot of advantages. Air conditioning, for one. Regular hours, for another. A much, much bigger potential audience.
And the fact that, as a Guardian, writing for a living had a lot of advantages too. Because he could drop what he was doing at a moment's notice—and as another Guardian who had once lived in this very building had learned, a writer could do his (or her) job from virtually anywhere and still save the universe, one small bit at a time.
So all in all, it was beginning to look as if every member of Eric's immediate circle was going to be able to settle down and actually plan their lives with a reasonable expectation that those plans would be carried out.
It was a strange feeling. But one that Eric thought he just might be able to get used to.
* * *
"Cake!" Magnus greeted its arrival as if he'd never been fed in his life.
"There's plenty for everyone," Ace said, setting it down in the middle of the table.
The six of them—Eric, Magnus, Hosea, Kayla, Ria, and Ace—were gathered at Ria's townhouse. Tonight was a celebration. Today Ace's final papers had come. In the eyes of the State of New Jersey, she was legally an adult.
"What's the candle for?" Magnus said.
"It's because today is the first day of the rest of her life," Kayla told him. "Yum. Chocolate."
"I'm just as glad to have put the last few months behind us," Ria said, when the cake had been cut and served. "There's something to be said for a nice, old-fashioned monster. At least that way, you can knock it over the head and know when you're finished dealing with it."
Eric shuddered feelingly. "Monsters—or complicated political plots. I think I'm getting too old for either one of them."
Magnus snickered around a large mouthful of cake.
"They do tend to trouble a body's rest," Hosea agreed. "And get in the way o' the important things in life. How are yore students comin' on?"
For a while the friends spoke of the everyday matters in their lives. Many of Eric's students (most of the paying ones, in fact) were going to be away for the summer, but that left Eric free to concentrate on his pro bono clients. Hosea's feature article had attracted a lot of attention, and the New Yorker had asked him for a think-piece on "The neighborhood as a village." Kayla was going to be going home in a couple of weeks to spend the summer with Elizabet, and looked forward to visiting old haunts—though with the time-slip, she'd have to be careful that she didn't run into anyone who remembered Elizabet's foster daughter, who should now be much older than Kayla was.
Just normal life, Eric thought, looking around the table at his family and closest friends. As normal as it gets. And it feels good.
After all we've been through, I think we deserve this.
"Well, heck," Hosea said, looking around the table with a smile. "Ain't we the family. Ah reckon we're 'bout due for some peace and quiet. So here's to it."
"You said it, Too-Tall." Kayla grinned, and raised her glass. "To uninteresting times, and lots of them, and plenty of time for our very own lives!"
"Amen," Ace said with feeling.
"Ditto. As long as there's cake," Magnus added, clinking his glass with the rest.
Eric added his glass to the rest. Uninteresting times. Peace and quiet. Nothing more stressful than nagging Magnus to clean his room. Time to heal. Maybe—he glanced at Ria—time for something else, too. I can get behind that.
"Works for me," he told them all, and with a pleasant shock, caught Ria looking back at him with a soft expression in her eyes that he almost didn't recognize. "Yeah!" he added, with more enthusiasm, speaking directly to her this time. "I can really get behind that!"
Things are looking up . . . definitely.
He let his smile creep into his eyes, and saw, with pleasure, the faintest hint of a flush on Ria's cheeks. So, Ms. Overachiever was finally willing to take a little Her-time, hmm? And maybe they were finally going to sort something out. That would be good. Very good.
So, maybe the times won't exactly be uninteresting . . . and I can get behind that, too.
He ate a bite of cake, and smiled.
THE END
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