“Ireland?” Mr. Hammond asked in surprise when he opened the door.
“Hi, Mr. Hammond. Is Mrs. Hammond home?”
He studied me for a second before stepping aside and holding his arm out in invitation.
I walked inside the apartment, which was more like a dorm, with just a bathroom and one open space, and found her sitting in an armchair by the window.
“Mrs. Hammond,” I said, crouching down by her side. “I missed you in class today.”
She turned her head toward me slowly, nothing in her expression or her eyes.
“Genelle wasn’t feeling up to it today,” Mr. Hammond said, sitting in the smaller armchair.
“Genelle?” I said, holding Mrs. Hammond’s blank gaze. “Genelle Hammond. That’s a beautiful name.”
A flicker of life flashed in her eyes when I said her full name.
“May I call you Genelle?”
Her lips curved up, and she nodded.
“Thank you. Genelle, I need help picking more songs for our gala in two weeks. Something special.”
She sat straighter in her chair and looked past me at her husband. “Melvin, could you get my…?”
He smiled at her. “Your records are down in the rec room. Do you wanna go down there, sweetheart?”
She nodded and offered him her hand. He took it, helping her up.
On the way down to the first floor, Mr. Hammond told me to call him Melvin, then explained that he let the Locc borrow Genelle’s record player for a while, but now that she couldn’t get over there as easily, he’d brought it back to Zinnia’s rec room.
It was almost lunchtime, so the cafeteria was bustling when we walked past. I scanned the spaces for any sign of Dad or Beck but didn’t see them.
Genelle perked up when we got to the rec room, walking straight to the record player. Melvin and I flanked her as she sifted through the sleeves of records.
She finally pulled one out and held it out to her husband.
He looked at it for a long time, gripping the worn cover.
“Want me to put it on?” I asked softly.
He nodded and handed it over without looking at me.
My old ballet teacher had a record player in her studio, so I at least knew how they worked. I slid the record out, and I set it carefully on the platter. I lowered the needle, and with crackles and pops that raised the hair on my arms, the record started playing.
“Que Sera, Sera” by Doris Day filled the large room, and Genelle held her hand out to Melvin again.
He took it.
My breaths lodged in my throat as they seamlessly,flawlessly, moved together, dancing across the room.
I took an automatic step back, but I didn’t look away. Not for a single second. Tears welling in my eyes, I took myphone out of my pocket and started recording just in time to catch Melvin mouthing the lyrics to Genelle.
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
I tried so hard to not let the shaking in my body extend to my hand and disturb the recording, and I somehow made it all the way to the end of the short song, when Melvin dipped his wife, then kissed her sweetly when he brought her back up.
