Chapter 19: The Fox Song

It took me one phone call to put the empty seats back on sale.

The promoter had paid Sonya's company triple and did not care who sat in the arena, but he cared a great deal about a written license.

"Every song on that set list is mine to withhold," I told him. "If a seat is held back for any reason, I withhold the songs. Sell them by noon."

By two o'clock the box office said the twelve thousand were gone.

Colt read the box office's message in the bungalow kitchen and set the phone down very carefully.

"You did that," he said.

"I made a call."

"You did that for me."

"I did it for a hall full of people who paid for a ticket," I said, and my cheeks were warm, so I turned toward the stove.

That night, the twins put on a concert.

They built the stage in the front room from couch cushions, a laundry basket, and a bath towel hung over the lamp for a curtain.

Birdie wore her raincoat and a paper crown.

She stood on the coffee table with a wooden spoon for a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "Tonight only. We have a band."

Gus sat on the cushion stage with a kazoo.

"We have a famous guest," Birdie said. "He is the dad."

"I'm the dad," Colt agreed, from the floor, where he sat cross-legged with the stuffed fox in his lap.

"He has written a song."

"I have," Colt said. "It's new. Be kind."

"We're never kind," Birdie said. "That's the rule."

I sat in the armchair with my feet tucked under me, watching his hands.

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