Finding the Magic (Tom Kelly's Boys Book 1)

by McMillin, Casey

  She looked at me like I was crazy. "No. Why, are you?" She sort of laughed when she said it as if the idea was silly.

  "Yes."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes."

  "What are you gonna do? Go around and knock on the door?"

  "Pretty much. I don't have a plan yet, but apparently the guy we saw yesterday makes custom furniture."

  "So you're just gonna go buy a couch to try to talk to him?"

  "Not a couch—maybe a little table or footstool or something."

  She looked at me with wide eyes. I'd known Megan for years, and I could tell I was shocking her.

  "What? It's a fun challenge to find out more about a pirate. It gives me something to think about besides Rachmaninoff."

  "So, you really think they're pirates?"

  "I don't know. It's just fun to think about. I never knew there was such a thing, and it's interesting. Plus, I want to see if he's as hot up close as he is through the crack."

  She laughed. "You better not get yourself killed," she said.

  I smiled and shook my head at her. "You sound just like your brother. Only, he would have added a few more f-bombs."

  "It's relentless isn't it? I have to really pay attention to understand what he's saying sometimes." She paused, thinking. "Are you seriously gonna go try to meet that guy?"

  "His name's Drake, and yes."

  She shook her head at me. She was smiling, and it was obvious that she was still surprised. "Dad asked me to have you think about playing something for him this weekend," she said.

  My smile faded.

  Dr. Richie was fond of my playing and frequently asked me to do it for him. Normally, it wouldn't be a big deal, but I'd scarcely touched a piano during the last five months, and certainly not to play for an audience, no matter the size. The only reason I didn't refuse right when she brought it up was because I thought it'd be rude. They were letting me live in their beautiful home, and I knew that playing for him was the least I could do, so I decided to change the subject rather than say no on the spot. I'd just have to deal with letting him down when it came up again.

  "I'm going to check out the campus sometime early next week."

  "I'll go with you if you want me to," she said.

  "Oh, that'd be awesome."

  Megan just got her degree in marketing and was about to start her new job at one of Miami's largest wedding and event planning firms. The owners of the firm were patients of her dad's; otherwise it would have taken her years to get her foot in the door. Dr. Richie said she could stay in the guesthouse rent free for two more years—until Steven was old enough to move into it. She had a good situation, and I knew how lucky I was to have such a nice place to stay.

  "Yeah, I'm just hanging out for the next few weeks until I start work, she said. "I'd love to take you over to campus."

  "I'm not familiar with the music department, but we'll find our way around."

  "I've actually been there a few times playing concerts in high school before I left for New York."

  "Do you think you'll play in front of big audiences again?" she asked.

  I laughed. "God no. I think I broke out in a nervous rash when you mentioned your dad wanting me to play this weekend."

  "Ohhh, I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't guess I knew it was that bad. What happened?"

  I shook my head and waved her off, trying to act like it wasn't a big deal even though I'd been completely obsessed with it for the last five plus months.

  "The concert wasn't really that bad," I lied. "It's just that I can't get over the feeling that what happened to me on that stage could happen again. It's just a mental stumbling block that I don't see myself overcoming as a performer. That's why it's on to Plan B."

  She smiled at me. "Or better yet Plan P."

  I gave her a confused look and she smiled.

  "You know, for pirate."

  Chapter 7

  I ended up playing the piano for Alan Richie that weekend. He mentioned it Saturday when I saw him, and I knew I wouldn't be able to get out of it, so I randomly did it on my own terms. Megan's mom, Candice, was currently going through some sort of mid-life crisis. She was barely ever around, but her newest thing was this cooking class she was taking with a friend of hers.

  Apparently, she learned how to make a quiche and the whole Richie family was expected to come to Sunday brunch. This brunch is where I played a surprise piece to avoid an official sit-down and listen to Addie kind of thing. We could see when we came in that Candice had gone through some trouble with preparation, and Megan glanced over at me like maybe we were underdressed.

  "Who's all coming to this, Mom?" she asked. Candice was using a melon-baller on a cantaloupe. She put ball after perfectly shaped ball into a bowl.

  "It's just us, why?"

  "Why are you going through all this trouble?"

  Candice put the melon-baller down and regarded Megan with a frustrated glare. "How about, thanks for cooking, Mom."

  Megan looked away from her mom before rolling her eyes, and without further argument, Candice went back to making brunch.

  I walked out of the kitchen and the awkwardness with Candice into the living room. Steven was lying on the couch with the remote on his bare chest and the television turned to a sports channel. On the other end of the room, near the back door that led to the patio, sat their beautiful baby grand piano. Alan was sitting close by it, and I figured it was a good time to play a little for him. I was hoping it would be enough.

  I sat at the piano and started playing very lightly. I glanced up and could see that Steven and Candice were going about their business, but Alan looked up at me with a smile. Megan came over and settled in next to her dad at the table. She sat down and began to glance at her phone, but Alan continued to look at me. He loved hearing me play, I could tell by the way he watched. I gave him an almost imperceptible smile before focusing back on the keys.

  I chose a pretty basic piece of music and played it so softly that I told myself no one could really even hear. At one point while I was playing, I caught myself feeling like my arms and fingers were stiff. I knew it was just stress, so I took a few deep breaths and reminded myself that no one was paying attention to me anyway. I didn't look up to test that fact. I just went right on playing and told myself that even Alan had gone back to reading the newspaper.

  It took me a few seconds to work through the nerves that threatened to lock up my fingers, but once I did, I found it easy to finish the rest of the piece. (Thank God, because it was really easy—something I'd been playing since the fifth grade.)

  Alan Riche set his paper down and took off his glasses so that he could clap for me when I finished playing. He just barely clapped so that only Megan and I heard him, but he clapped nonetheless, and I gave him a smile and a grateful nod. I was so extremely happy to have gotten through that. The way I froze up in front of just him only served to drive home the point that I'd never again be able to play for the kind of crowds I used to.

  "That was beautiful, Addie. One of my favorites," he said when I came to sit beside them at the table.

  I'd only been sitting next to them for a few seconds when Candace came over with a serving platter full of food. "You guys have to tell me exactly what you think of everything, so I know what to do different next time," she said.

  She turned and headed toward the kitchen and Dr. Richie looked at Megan and I with wide eyes.

  "For the love of God, do not tell her the truth about how it tastes—unless of course you love it. She says that same thing every time she cooks, but under no circumstances are you to tell her if there's anything you would change. Do you understand?"

  I nodded. Megan smiled at her dad, and he returned it.

  "Steven," he said, raising his voice to get his son's attention from across the room.

  Steven looked over at the table with an annoyed expression.

  "Sorry we have to bother you with walking twenty feet over to the table to eat breakfast that
your mother serves on a silver platter."

  "Smells like shit anyway."

  Alan slammed his hand onto the table, causing us all to jump. "You better show some respect, Steven Richie. It might smell like shit, but you're gonna sit here and eat it with a smile on your face."

  Candice, who heard what they said, chimed in with a "Heyyyy," at the thought of her food smelling bad.

  Alan hit his hand on the table again to get Steven's attention. We all looked at him, but he just stared straight at his son. "You need to watch your language, son. This isn't the hood and you're not a gangster. It's gonna start coming out of your allowance every time I hear you use that language.

  "You should have started that a long time ago. He's already got a potty mouth." Candice said, setting a dish full of what looked to be spinach quiche in the middle of the table. I hated spinach, but knew I'd choke it down just as I'd faked my way through that piano performance.

  "Thanks honey," Alan said, reaching for the spatula to serve himself a slice of the quiche.

  "You're welcome," she said with a sigh. She smiled at him like the perfect wife, but everyone at the table knew they were having problems and had been doing their best to avoid each other for weeks.

  We spent the next twenty minutes eating the meal Candice prepared. I barely tasted the spinach, making it possible for me to get down a whole piece. We brought up several subjects including plans for me to transfer to Miami. Initially, my response to people when they were curious about my plans was forced and awkward, but I quickly learned that in order to avoid people bugging me about giving up, I needed to lie and say I was planning on performing again.

  That's exactly what I did during this conversation even though I knew I never would. I told them I wanted to have an education to fall back on but that I would get back into performing at some point soon. That was the answer people seemed to be the most content with—the one that got them off my back, so that's what I'd been telling anyone who asked.

  The subject turned to Megan and the fact that she'd be starting work in a few weeks. She'd just come home from a two-week trip to Greece, and told us a few stories from her time there.

  Megan and I headed back to the guesthouse an hour later. She looked at me as we crossed the area by the pool.

  "You wanna go peek through the hole before we head back to the house?"

  I smiled. "I thought you'd never ask." I looked back toward the main house. "Do you think anyone will see us?"

  "Who cares?" she asked, smiling.

  We started walking through the wide blades of St. Augustine grass that covered their manicured lawn.

  "Are you still thinking about trying to go over there?" she asked. I could tell she thought I'd say no, but I didn't.

  "I think I found the furniture business. I called the number they had listed. I left a message, but nobody's called me back yet."

  "I can't believe you're seriously thinking about talking to them."

  We approached the wall as she was saying it, so she just sort of trailed off and I didn't bother responding. We sat with our backs against the wall, each of us on either side of the hole.

  I looked first. I focused for a few seconds, but couldn't see any movement. I took a few more seconds to look again, but met Megan's gaze with a disappointed shake of my head when I looked up. She bent down to see for herself, and I just sat there wondering if I'd ever get to see Drake Kelly up close.

  "Try that number," she said.

  "What?"

  "Try the number for that furniture business again. Maybe he'll pick up this time."

  "I can't do that. I left a message the first time I called asking them to call me back at their earliest convenience."

  "Did you say that—the word convenience?"

  I stared at her. "I think so. Why? Is that bad?"

  "It's just that he's probably not used to girls who are classically trained pianists with good vocabularies."

  "Convenience is not a hard word."

  "It might be for a pirate."

  "You think he's not calling me back because I messed up on the message?" I asked.

  "I'm not saying that. I just think it's okay for you to call him back. I don't hesitate to call businesses back if I need to get in touch with them. He has no way of knowing you're not in it for the furniture."

  "You know what? You're right." I leaned to the side and pulled my phone from my pocket and Megan gave me a satisfied smile that I was apparently calling him right then and there. I found the number I had dialed the day before and pressed the button to place a call.

  It took a second for it to sink in that we heard a phone ringing at the house behind us. Once Megan and I realized that I could be the one causing the ringing noises we were hearing, we looked at each other with matching looks of panic, and she bent to look through the crack.

  "Hang it up," she whispered, looking up at me.

  "What'd you see?"

  "Nothing. I couldn't see anything. That could mean he's back here by the back wall and would hear us." She looked back through the hole. "See?" she whispered.

  "I see him now. I'll bet it was your call making that phone ring. No telling where he was when you called. It's a good thing you didn't talk to him."

  "What's he doing?"

  Megan focused into the hole again. "Nothing. Just walking back toward the pool. He's looking down at his phone."

  "Does he have on a shirt?" I asked. I was half joking but she answered anyway.

  "Yeah, but it's a muscle shirt. I can still see his arms and everything. He's making a call. He just put the phone to his ear."

  Before what she was saying had the chance to sink in, my phone started ringing and vibrating in my hand, nearly causing me to jump right out of my skin. Thank God, I had the presence of mind to silence it immediately by pressing the volume button on the side. I was really quick on the draw, but it didn't stop Megan and I from looking at each other in shock.

  She stuck her hand out toward the house and pointed dramatically. "Run!" she whispered. "Go over there and answer it. I'll watch through here and make sure he stays put."

  My face crumpled with worry. "Can I do this?"

  She pinned me with a stare. "Hurry!" she whispered frantically. "It's what you wanted. Go!"

  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," I whispered as I ran toward the back of the guesthouse. I pressed the button to answer the phone just as soon as I thought I was out of range to be heard. I took a deep, calming breath after I picked it up. I hated to answer the phone breathless, but I didn't really have a choice.

  I spoke carefully.

  "Hello?" I said. I glanced back at Megan, who was staring through the hole, while awkwardly holding a thumbs up in the air for me. I smiled at the sight of her arm all jacked up in the air, trying to get me the message.

  "I just missed a call from this number," he said.

  My heart melted at the sound of his perfect, deep voice. It sounded like velvet to my ears and I didn't even have that good of reception. I was so distracted by everything that I almost forgot to speak.

  "Uh, yes, I tried to place a call to you a few minutes ago, but we got cut off," I lied.

  "Can I help you with something?"

  "I'm calling about buying furniture from you. I called and left a message yesterday, but I was just gonna see if I could get in touch with you again today since I was thinking about it."

  "Have you seen my work somewhere?"

  "I got your number from your website, but not much of your portfolio is on there, and the prices weren't listed."

  "I build one of a kind, custom pieces to fit the exact needs of the customer," he said. "I also happen to have magical powers and I put a little mojo into everything I make. Also, I use only the finest materials, so it's high quality shit. These things being said, it's kind of the thing where I don't list prices because if you have to ask—"

  "You probably can't afford it," I finished.

  I could hear him let out a low laugh on the other e
nd, and my stomach flipped. I loved the sound of his voice.

  "Money's not really an object," I said. "Especially if magic's involved."

  "In that case, what can I help you with?"

  "I was hoping I could check out some of your work before I decide what I want to have you get started on first."

  "I have a few pieces in my own house, but I make it to order, so I don't keep any sort of inventory."

  "I guess there's no chance you'd let me check out the ones you have at your house, would you?"

  I couldn't believe I was being so bold. It was so unlike me, but I was desperate to see him up close, and would obviously do or say just about anything to make that happen.

  He hesitated for a second. "I don’t guess it would hurt, but you should know that I have three or four other jobs in front of you. I might be a few weeks."

  "That's fine," I said. I was shaking from nerves, and could not believe that I was actually about to make plans to go to his house.

  "I'll text my address to this number when we hang up," he said. "You can come by at five o'clock this afternoon. I only have about fifteen minutes to talk to you, so don’t be late."

  "Are you sure it's okay?"

  "Yeah, it's fine."

  I thanked him and we hung up. I couldn't believe it was actually happening. I looked at Megan who was no longer peering through the hole but looking at me. I walked back over to the wall.

  Chapter 8

  "What happened?" she whispered with wide eyes.

  Now here's the part where I played a little mental tug of war. Should I tell her the whole truth about our conversation and risk her wanting to come with me when I go over there? It wasn't that I was above lying, it's that I couldn't decide whether or not I wanted her over there with me. Part of me wanted her with me in case they really turned out to be pirates and I suddenly find myself in a predicament, but the other part knew that Megan was strikingly beautiful and would likely be the one to catch his attention if we both went over there. All of this went through my head as I made my way back over toward the wall.

  "What happened?" she repeated. I had heard her the first time but just couldn't decide what I was going to tell her. I felt too rushed to think of a good lie, so I went for the truth.