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From there in the hallway she could hear him sing- his voice warm and mellifluous, a soft presence all on its own. Happily carried away by the simple task of washing dishes, Mary assumed, he paused once or twice to sway his hips a little. Every so often the singing faded into a hum- probably where he’d forgotten the words- before coming back again.
For a while, all Mary could do was stand there. Stand there and listen, one hand absentmindedly taking hold of the corner beside her. It wasn’t a song she knew; yet, as golden afternoon light spilled into the kitchen, it dawned upon her that she didn’t need to know it to love it. Just as birds in a garden sang for themselves and blossoms whispered in their esoteric ways, the scene unfolding before her was beautiful whether explained or not. And certainly a garden of their own was in progress. Had Norman been silent, Mary may not have noticed how much had changed.
“You have a beautiful voice.”
She heard the words before she realized she was saying them. Too late now, she thought. Norman had startled and narrowly missed dropping a glass plate onto the floor before turning to face her.
“Were you listening this whole time?” he asked, eyeing her with caution.
Mary nodded and approached the kitchen window. “I didn’t really mean to at first,” she began. “But it’s true. I didn’t know you could sing. You do it so well, I had to listen.”
When she turned back to see Norman’s expression, he was flushed red. He met her eyes for less than a second before lowering his head and returning to the task at hand- quietly this time.
Mary hesitated. Maybe he didn’t like having his talents acknowledged. She should have considered that earlier. Maybe after all he’d done, the idea that he could be good at anything felt profane to him.
“Is everything okay?” she asked over the sound of running water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s fine.” Norman abruptly cut in. “It’s- you’re fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…”
The water stopped.
“I never really thought I could sing, either,” he mused, returning the last cup to the drying rack. “I like to, but I never thought I was very good at it. My mother used to hate it when I did. Said I was disturbing her peace.”
Her heart sinking, Mary stepped into the kitchen and approached the sink to stand beside him. She thought about taking his hand, but it felt too awkward to ask. “Well, she’s not here. She can’t hurt you anymore, and she can’t tell you to stop.”
“I know.”
“And,” she continued, following him into the hallway, “she should’ve been grateful that you were happy. That’s why you sang, right? Because it made you happy?”
He didn’t turn to face her. “Yeah. But I stopped pretty quickly after she started telling me to.”
Mary wondered when that might have been, but figured it was better not to ask. As he slowed to a halt in front of the living room window, she did the same. A stray cat had wandered into the yard, and there under a tree it lazed, grooming its dark fur.
“I’m sorry,” Mary said. “If it makes you feel any better, you hold a tune better than I ever could.”
“You were singing in the cab when we first left.”
She chuckled. “Because they were playing Billy Joel. What was I supposed to do? Sit there in silence?”
“Well, I did,” Norman replied, playfully feigning offense.
“That’s because you don’t know his music.” The cat outside lifted its head and looked around before continuing to groom itself. “But not for long. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“What are you going to do? Force me to listen to it?”
“Maybe.” She rested her head in her palm, her elbow on the windowsill. “I don’t know. I’d rather call it sharing. I can’t ‘force’ you to do anything.”
For a moment, silence. The first few drops of rain began to fall. Once again, the cat raised its head; evidently assuming it was safe under the branches, it resumed its bath.
“It’ll be pouring in a few,” Mary said. “I hope that cat finds somewhere dry. I wonder if he’s lost. He looks clean.”
“What cat?”
She pointed at it. “There.”
“Oh.” She could hear the smile in Norman’s voice. “He’s so dark, I didn’t see him. He’s cute.”
The rain fell harder now. Fearing it at last, the cat leapt to its feet and scampered away in a single, smooth motion. Like liquid mercury it slid under a gap in the fence, and then it disappeared. The two pondered this change together, with little more than a small “There he goes” from Mary.
Norman looked at her after a while, his head tilted. “If I listen to Billy Joel, will you listen to Beethoven with me?”
“If you insist,” Mary teased.
“I promise it isn’t as boring as you think it is. I… find it relaxing, actually.”
She considered this. Better than most, she knew that tension and anxiety still plagued Norman far more often than was necessary. If it was soothing to him, she was sure, it could soothe anyone.
Mary smiled back at him. “Then I guess we have a deal.”