For the first time in his life Gavin truly wondered if his reality were accurate. Every object in House could move, could feel, could think. But each lacked muscles, flowing blood, and a brain to process it all. Why wouldn’t House be able to hear his thoughts? What else could House do that he had never considered?
Before Gavin could trip his way down the tangle of worries and thoughts that led to the dreaded question—where did I come from?—he heard the sound of a small fist against the front door.
He wasn’t expecting a package or a grocery delivery, and nobody ever, ever just dropped by. The knock came again.
“Gavin?”
Through the thick oak of the door, Delilah’s voice sounded tinny and frail, when in reality and despite her size, her voice was low and scratchy, as if she’d grown up screaming everything and had only recently decided to tone it down. Gavin opened the front door and grinned. “What brings you here, Miss Blue?”
She shrugged, slipping past him as if she owned the place and dropping her bag on the floor. “My hot boyfriend.”
Gavin looked around the room in mock surprise. “He’s here too?”
The corners of her eyes turned up as she smiled. “Yes! Could you get him for me? He’s short and burly and never stops talking. Just my type.”
Gavin bent to kiss her forehead. “Sorry it took so long. I wasn’t expecting anyone. It took me a second to realize someone was at the door. People don’t stop by here.”
“And now you can’t say that ever again.” She brushed her fingers across his chest as she walked past him and into the dining room. Delilah ran a hand over the top of Piano, and then with fingers from both hands pressed lightly into a few keys, playing a middle C chord.
“Oh boy,” Gavin mumbled under his breath. As predicted, Piano held the notes far longer than Delilah’s fingers lingered, the sound of C, E, and G in harmony filling the cavernous room.
“Wow, it has good reverb. Or whatever it’s called on a piano,” she said, starting to walk deeper into the room.
“Piano is. . . ,” Gavin started and then trailed off, knowing what was coming anyway.
“Is what?”
But as soon as she asked, Piano played another chord, C-sharp major. And then, after a pause, another, D major. Piano made its way through the majors: E-flat, E, F, F-sharp, G, A-flat, A, B-flat, and finally ended with a lingering, pointed B.
Delilah, who had turned back when the notes began, stood frozen, staring down at the keys. “I don’t actually play the piano. Is it expecting me to do that, too?”
“It’s teaching you.” And on cue, Piano played the C-sharp major chord again and then paused. The room cooled impatiently as Delilah’s hesitation endured. Gavin could remember this exact routine over and over from when he was six. He hadn’t been allowed upstairs that night until he’d mastered every chord through the majors.
“Does it know I don’t play?”
Gavin laughed. “I think it assumes you don’t, because you didn’t put the right fingers down.”
Delilah pressed her fingers down on the keys—her index, middle, and pinky—but no sound came out of the instrument.
“Wrong fingers,” Gavin offered. He wished there’d been someone there to give him that prompt. That had been the longest part of learning to play: where to put his fingers, how to move them along the scales.
“Cripes, Gavin, is this like Pitfall!? I have to finish this thing before I can see the rest of the house?”
He stared at her, confused. “Pitfall?”
She looked over her shoulder at him and grimaced. “Sorry. It’s a video game. My dad has an old Atari. Turns out before he turned into a cardboard-cutout dad, he was a geek.”
With a wry smile, Gavin stepped closer and correctly positioned her fingers. “Who knew?” He’d never even seen her father, but from what she’d said about him—very little, to be honest—Gavin had a hard time imagining he’d ever done anything besides silently eat dinner and watch the news.