Page 21 of Share with Me

“I suppose those are essentials,” Ivan said. “What about the intangibles?”

“We all have our own beliefs.”

“Exactly.” Ivan paused long enough for Brinley to wonder what he was going to say next. “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

“You’re religious, like your grandmother.”

“I’m not into religion.”

“No? God. Lord. Aren’t those religious words?”

“I’m just a Christian who loves God.”

Brinley leaned toward him. “As opposed to a Christian who doesn’t love God?”

“I don’t want to get into a debate.”

“I didn’t mean to start one.”

“Are we fighting?”

“How can we? We barely know each other.”

Ivan leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “Have you ever tried to wind down and were unable to?”

“With that cacophony?” Brinley pointed her chin at Zoe and Quincy. Suddenly she realized that was what Mom did a lot. She pointed with her chin.

Fortunately the song was short. Amidst claps and catcalls, another dinner guest went up to sing her favorite number, something mellower.Thank God.

“SISO did a great job tonight, I must say. You’re good with the violin. Way better than karaoke.”

Ivan smiled. Something about that smile tugged at Brinley’s heart. It was both glad and sad.

“How long have you been playing the violin?”

“Since I was four. Grandma Yun was my violin teacher. She retired some years ago.” A glint in his eye hinted at memories that Brinley wasn’t privy to. He quickly changed the subject. “Anymore news about the Strad?”

“We don’t have it yet.”

“What are you going to do if the collector won’t give it back?”

“There’s always compensation.” Brinley would pay anything to get the 1698 Damaris Brooks Strad.

Ivan chuckled. “Who has that kind of money? It’s only a violin.”

“It’s history, Ivan. Keeping memories alive, you know.”

“Memories are intangibles.”

There it was again. Fleeting sorrow in his eyes.

“Some old things are reminders of moments lost and time gone.” Brinley had many old things from old books to old Stradivarius violins and old Steinways to old whatnots handed down to her from Grandpa Brooks who seemed to be a hoarder of all things historical about the Brooks family. That was why she had to get the Strad back. Even if Grandpa was gone, this was his legacy of handing down history to the next generation. Besides, that one empty case in the art and music vault must be filled.

“Are you all right?” Ivan’s voice was soft, uplifting almost, like a strand of sea oat grass floating on the sea breeze. A kite in the air. Then coming down, he lowered his voice even more. “Don’t worry. We’ll pray that you’ll get the Strad back.”

Pray.

“Do you think prayer works?” Brinley asked.

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