“Brian,” Victoria called from the hallway, “dinner will be ready in a half hour. I don’t know where Agnes is, but dinner will be ready.”
“Thank you, I’ll be done before then.” He launched back into his latest project – Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. As always, he’d play it all the way through and then break it apart. The performance wasn’t for three months.
He could smell the roast beef, potatoes, and stewed vegetables all the way in the back music room. What a difference from the one-room apartment at the top of Mrs. O’Toole’s house. He’d been there nearly forty years, ever since Martin Limerick rescued him from the train station attack. And now here he was living in his daughter’s house … and she knew nothing about the incident, long before she was even born.
He heard the door open and shut. Keaton ran out of the piano room and barked at his mistress. Agnes was home, and she peeked in the music room for a look at Brian. Wet as a chicken, red hair matted down onto her head, but smiling cheek to cheek. He had no idea what made her so happy – she hadn’t smiled like that since before Norman had died.
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