Penny stands, a marker and pad of sticky notes in hand. “So how is this supposed to work? I see something I want, so I just stroll over and sticker it?”
“That’s not quite what I had in mind.” I push my chair back and step toward the living room area and the piano. “It’ll be more fair if we take turns according to birth order. I thought I’d start things off … to demonstrate how the selection process will work.”
When neither Penny nor Rose protests, I brace myself for resistance and cross the room in three steps. I slap a pink sticker on the top of the piano, and just in case my sisters forget who carried the pink pad, I scrawl my name across the Post-it.
“Wait a minute.” Penny walks toward me, head shaking. “That piano is probably worth more than anything in the house. It’s not fair for you to claim it right off the bat.”
“If you want something else—”
“I could take everything else in the house and probably not find anything as valuable as that piece. I don’t know much about pianos, but I know that thing’s an antique, and it was valuable when Grandma bought it. So it’s not fair for you to take it just because you were born first.”
“This thing”—I enunciate each word with care—“is a Steinway square piano, five and a half octaves, with a mahogany case, six legs, and two music drawers. Completely restored, it might sell for five or six thousand dollars. But to restore it, you’ll need to find someone willing to work on an antique piano, and then you’ll need to pay him—a lot—for his time and trouble. When he’s done, you’ll have an instrument that can’t measure up to a modern piano and won’t match anything in your house.” I give my sisters a steady smile. “I want it because this instrument means something to me—apparently I inherited Grandmother’s musical talent, and without that I don’t think I’d be a choir director. I know I wouldn’t have majored in music or earned a graduate degree in music education. But if you really want the piano, you can have it.”
Penny crosses her arms. “Since Grandma couldn’t even play the dang thing, I don’t see how you could have inherited her ‘musical talent’—”
“She sang. Don’t you remember? She’d invite that woman from church for lunch, and after we ate, she’d play while Grandmother sang.”
“Miss Josie.” Rose bends to pick up her dog. “The lady’s name was Miss Josie. All she could play was hymns, but she ate everything on the table.”
“Grandma bought that piano because she wanted to play for her boyfriends,” Penny continues, her brows knitting together as she scowls at me. “She thought she’d be able to figure it out after a few weeks, but she couldn’t. So don’t give us that song and dance about Grandma’s musical talent when we all know she didn’t know middle C from a hole in the ground.”
“She had a lovely voice. A lot of her talent was … latent.” Pride prevents me from arguing further.
Penny’s face twists into a puzzled look, and I know she’s trying to figure out what latent means. She probably thinks it’s a type of paint.
Rose strolls into the living room and drops onto the faded sofa, the dog tucked under her arm. “So? Who won?”
I drop my hand to the piano cabinet and look at Penny. “So … are you claiming it?”
“No, thank you. I don’t want it, but I still don’t think your method’s fair.”
“Then … suppose I give up my next several turns so you and Rose can select anything you like. I’ll sit out a few rounds, and then we can call it even.”
Penny looks at Rose, who shrugs and rolls her eyes.
The tight line of Penny’s mouth relaxes. “I guess that’d be okay.”
“Fine.” I cap my marker and drop my pad of sticky notes into my pocket. “So now it’s your turn, Penn. Choose whatever you want.”