Pipe Dreams(17)

       

He'd paid a decorator to choose from all the furniture they owned and  refinish and reupholster some of it to suit the space. She'd done a good  job warming the space up with honey-colored wood finishes and touches  of color. He'd probably been a dream client-checkbook open and no  patience to sweat the details.

Mike was still smiling as he climbed the stairs toward Elsa's room. The  violins got louder. There was no greater moment in parenting than  listening to your kid play Mozart or who-the-fuck-ever and laughing.  They'd had some really dark days these past couple of years. But a few  things went right, the biggest one being Hans.

It had originally been Shelly's idea to ask the violin teacher to move  in with them. Hans was in his twenties-your basic starving artist.  During the week he auditioned for orchestra gigs. On the weekends he'd  charged Long Island parents fifty-five bucks for a half hour of his  time. Elsa had taken to him immediately, and he'd been her teacher for  years.

There had been an awful month at the very end when Shelly was too sick  to get any more chemo. The cancer spread to her lungs, and she was  exhausted all the time.

They knew she would die, they just didn't know when.

Mike spent all his free time either watching movies with Elsa-because it  was less terrifying to ride out Shelly's last days when they were  looking at a screen-or having frantic, whispered conversations about the  future with his dying wife.

"Hans just broke up with his boyfriend," Shelly said one night. "He's  homeless. He's flying back to Germany to re-group for the summer, and  I'm afraid he's going to stay there."

"Fuck," Mike had said, massaging his temples. Even one more loss in Elsa's life was one too many.

"What if he moved in here? He already babysits for us plenty."

This was true. Shelly had hired him to hang out with Elsa during the  final weeks of Mike's playing season. "Okay," Mike had said without  thinking about it too hard. "Should I write him an e-mail?"

"Do it," she'd said. And the rest just fell into place. And when Mike  had moved to Brooklyn last fall, Hans was all too happy to come along.  He lived rent free in one of the most expensive cities in the world, and  also got paid a weekly salary to be available when Elsa wasn't in  school.

Mike reached the doorway to his daughter's bedroom, where the music  stand was set up. Big blond Hans towered over his daughter, but their  body language as they finished their piece was eerily similar. After the  last note rang out long and bright, Mike clapped from his spot against  the doorjamb.

Elsa whirled around and Hans jerked out of the way to avoid being poked by her violin bow. "Easy, kiddo," he said.

"Daddy!" Elsa took a second to lay her instrument in its case on the  bed. "You're back!" She ran over and jumped on him, just like she used  to do when she was little.

"I am," he said, catching almost a hundred pounds of Elsa in his arms  and squeezing her. She looked taller than she had two days ago. "I'm  home for forty-eight hours, anyway."

Elsa slid down to her feet, frowning. "Your next game isn't for four days."

"True. But Nate is shipping us all to some benefit in Miami on Tuesday night."

"Hell no!" Elsa complained. "That's not cool. I'm going to tweet that  Nate Kattenberger is anti-family." Her face took on this slightly evil  little smirk that Mike had privately titled the Teenager Smile.

"I wouldn't do that, honey. Nate is financing our fancy new house and  our big trip to France this summer. Besides-as soon as the play-offs are  done I'm going to be around all the time. Seriously." He grinned at  her. "You'll be like-Daddy get out of my room! Get a life!"

Hans chuckled over his own violin case. "You sound just like her." He  picked up the instrument and slung it on his back. "Good practice,  Elsabelle. Except you race too fast through the B section."

"Nope!" she argued. "Your pace drags."

"Be nice, Elsa," Mike said, disliking her tone.

"Eh," Hans winked on his way out the door. "It's like taking a Mercedes  on the autobahn and following the speed limit. She's the only kid I  teach who can play it that fast. I'd let it rip, too."

Mike followed Hans a few feet down the hallway. "So tonight I was  thinking we'd all watch a movie together. Maybe one of those sappy  movies Elsa likes. Then hot fudge sundaes?"

Hans turned around slowly in front of his bedroom door. "You are joking right now, aren't you?" he asked at a whisper.                       
       
           



       

Mike couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. "Go!" he said making a  shooing motion at the babysitter. "Go out and get drunk and . . ." he  only mouthed the last bit: get laid. "I'm sorry about this thing on  Tuesday night in Miami. The hits just keep on coming."

"It's fine. I didn't have anything I needed to do on Tuesday."

"Yeah? Well I don't think you read the calendar for Tuesday yet. Check  your phone." Hans disappeared into his room. It only took a few seconds  until Mike heard him cursing. "Sorry, pal!" Mike said with a chuckle.

Tuesday was the middle school's performance of Cats. Since Elsa was in  the orchestra, Hans would have to sit through the whole thing.

"It has to be Cats?" Hans called from within his room. "Who does that  show anymore? Will it be rude if I wear my earbuds and listen to  Hamilton the whole time?"

"Then you won't hear me play!" Elsa complained from her room.

"Kidding, sweetie!" Hans returned.

"Who's hungry?" Mike called, heading back toward the stairs. "Is it lunch time?"

"Half past ten?" Hans called. "That's brunch. You can say ‘brunch.' It won't make you gay."

Mike laughed again. "I love you, man. Does that make me gay?"

"I love him more!" Elsa yelled.

Grinning, Mike headed toward his fancy chef's kitchen to scare up some food for his weird little family.


• • •

That night he and Elsa sat down to watch a movie together. Elsa queued  up Amadeus and Mike filled a bowl with popcorn and Milk Duds tossed into  it. Last week Mike had ordered Milk Duds from Amazon.com on his Katt  Phone so he and Elsa could eat this comforting treat together.

It had been Shelly's favorite, and he knew his little girl remembered.

"Can I start it?" Elsa asked when he sat down, the bowl between them.

"In a minute. There's a couple of things I need to talk to you about."

"What?" She stuck her hand in the popcorn bowl.

"I found you a math tutor."

Elsa pulled a face. "Yippee."

"This young woman was recommended by your school counselor." He'd spent  the plane ride back from D.C. catching up on all things Elsa. "She's  fun, apparently. You're seeing her on Tuesday."

"Fine. What's the other thing?"

The other thing was even trickier.

Mike leaned forward and pulled a FedEx envelope off the coffee table.  "This came in the mail, and I really don't know what to think about it."  He pulled two sealed envelopes out of the big one. One was fat, as if  crammed with several pages. Elsa was printed on the front in her  mother's handwriting. The other was thin, and read Michael.

His daughter picked each one up in turn, examining them carefully.  "Where did you get these?" she asked eventually, her voice shaky.

"The, uh, lawyer sent them while I was away. He'd had instructions to hold onto them for a year."

"A year," Elsa repeated slowly.

"Apparently that's what she wanted." Mike didn't have a clue if Elsa was  in the right frame of mind for this kind of bomb. There were days when  Elsa was feeling much better, and other days when it seemed as if Shelly  had died just a week ago, and everything was raw and hopeless.

He'd almost shoved these letters in a drawer to worry about later. But it seemed mean to withhold her mother's last gift.

"I'm not reading it tonight," she announced, flipping the Elsa envelope onto the coffee table.

"Okay," he said quickly. "That's fine. Can you do me a favor, though?"

"Sure?"

"Tell me when you have read it? I'll read mine too, then."

"All right." She handed the Mike letter back to him. "Yours is thin."

"I noticed that." He shoved it into the FedEx envelope for now. He had  no idea what Shelly wanted to say to him. While Elsa had been too  terrified to acknowledge Shelly's imminent passing, he and his wife had  already said their I'm sorrys and good-byes. What was there left to say?  He was half afraid he'd only find a note inside that read: Don't fuck  this up.

And was it awful that he'd seen these envelopes and thought that it was just like Shelly to get the last word?

Whether Elsa was struggling with the contents of the letter, he couldn't  tell. She pointed the remote at the TV and pressed Play. "Let's watch  this thing."