Where do you want it?
Phoebe
I don’t want it! I didn’t request a piano.
There’s a pause of several seconds while I try to work out why a delivery guy has shown up with a piano.
Jay
This guy says it’s a donation.
Phoebe
From who
Jay
Anonymous
Phoebe
Tell him we can’t accept it
Several more seconds pass.
Jay
He’s not leaving with it. Will leave in the driveway.
Phoebe
Can I fire this guy?
Jay
No. You didn’t pay him. Also, I’d have to do it. He looks feral. So no.
What am I supposed to do with a piano? Foster Martin’s collection is so extensive that the museum can afford to be choosy about what it acquires. Seriously, I need to work on the donation policy draft some more.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I call Jay. “Do you need a piano in the cottage?”
“Nice try,” he says.
“Have him put it in the shed.” The shed is more like a small barn where the maintenance and landscaping tools are kept. It’s got a lot of room. One piano won’t hurt until I figure out what to do with it.
“I’ll tell him,” Jay says.
I thank him, and we hang up. Almost an hour later, I get another text from him. It’s a close-up photo of the piano brand followed by a screenshot of piano valuations. This one is weirdly tall, about fifty years old, and worth around a thousand dollars.
Another text comes in, this time a screenshot from the local marketplace page showing five similar pianos being given away to anyone willing to move them.
So we have a tall piano that won’t fit the house’s dimensions or aesthetics, has no historical value, and has negligible financial value. Awesome.
It will also have to be a problem for another day. No, another week. Until I get this first board meeting out of the way, I don’t have bandwidth for other people’s unwanted pianos.
Wednesday, Jay once again proves he’s a good listener by not coming around. At one point in the late afternoon, I spot him through the library window, turning into the street on amountain bike, wearing a helmet. He hasn’t returned by the time I leave work.
