Page 9 of What You Own
“Langley.” Her red eyebrows pushed together. “As in Langley-Quartermaine?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned wide eyes onto me. “Does that mean we have a sponsor for the benefit?”
“Yep,” I replied.
“That’s wonderful! Oh my, Adam, you’ll enjoy working with our Ryan here. The kids adore him, and he has a beautiful voice.”
“So I’ve heard,” Adam said.
Oh, it was gonna be like that, huh? Pretending we didn’t have a three-year history between us? Fine. “Maybe we can get the elder Langley down here to see what we do,” I suggested. “Meet the committee and some of the other volunteers.”
Adam’s brief flare of panic did not disappoint. “He’s pretty busy this week, but I’m certain he’ll attend the benefit itself.”
“Either way, I’m grateful to have a sponsor,” Cindy said. “The kids here deserve to keep the center open.”
“Ryan! Come see!”
I perked up at the sound of Tommy Orser’s pipsqueak voice. A little hand waved from across the room, and I went to him. Tommy was pint-sized for being eleven, and he had the excess energy of a newborn colt. His single mom worked two jobs, so Tommy spent a lot of time here, and he’d glommed onto me this summer.
“I painted it pretty good.” Tommy pointed at his paper, which had a decent rendition of a football helmet done in acrylic paint.
“Thatispretty good,” I said. “Look even better with a Cowboys logo on it.”
Tommy giggled. “Steelers all the way!”
“Yeah, we’ll see, won’t we?”
“Sure will.” He glanced past me. “Is he your boyfriend?”
I almost swallowed my tongue. “What?”
Tommy waved me down to his level, then whispered, “The guy with you. He looks at you like boyfriends look at my mom.”
Something inside me tingled at the notion, while my brain put the brakes on any positive side of that. “No, Tommy, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s working here for a while this summer. I’m showing him around.”
“Okay.”
And like that, the matter was dropped. For Tommy, anyway. When I walked back to Adam, I didn’t see anything like that in his eyes or face. It couldn’t have been there. Cindy hugged us both good-bye, and I spent a few more awkward minutes showing Adam the rest of the center.
We ended up in the empty auditorium last, near the stage. Blue mats were still rolled out from gymnastics, and stacks of chairs lined both walls.
“This is where we’ll do the benefit performances,” I said, as if it wasn’t obvious.
Adam turned in a slow circle as he gazed around. “How are the acoustics?”
“Passable. We may need some microphones for the kids.”
The floor of the stage came up to chest-height. Adam ran his hand across the scuffed surface. “I haven’t stood on a stage since the rehearsal before Thanksgiving.”
The last time we’d ever sung together. “Never since?”
“No.” He shrugged. “The little platform when I got my diploma doesn’t count.”
“You walked that stage, and I walked this one.”
He turned to me then, a whole lot of sadness in his face, turning what was usually beautiful into something ugly. “I’d have given anything to walk this one all the way with you.”
