MR. LARSON'S PIANO

SEVENTEEN

"Is it really over?" Marcy asked me when I walked outside.

"Yes, babe," I said. "I don't think he's gone forever. But, for today, it's done."

I put my arms out and Micah jumped into them. I held him close. "If we can keep this little monkey away from that picture, we might just be in good shape."

I poked a finger in his armpit and gave him a little playful tickle.

He laughed and then looked at me and said, "Silvoo Akels Wetiwement Home".

I was suddenly taken aback. "What did you say?"

Micah smiled and repeated himself. "Silvoo Akels. That's whuh Miss Emma is. And that's whuh Mistoo Lawson wants to be."

"Larson..." I corrected him, dreamily and out of sheer bewilderment.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Marcy asked.

"I'm not real sure. Silver Acres Retirement Home is where Emmaline Larson is now." I sat Micah down on his feet then hunkered down on my haunches in front of him. "What do know about Silver Acres?"

Micah smiled, "Silvoo Akels. Whuh Ms. Emma is."

"Yes..." I said, wanting him to go on.

"Mistoo Lawson, (I realized then that he was saying Larson, just with the impediment we were still working on with the speech therapist), wants to be with Ms. Emma."

I had a confused look on my face and my hands on Micah's shoulders as if I was gleaning the answers to a great mystery from some wise, old sage. "What are you trying to say, son?"

"It's weally not that hard, dad," he said. "Take the piano to Silvoo Akels so Mistoo Lawson can be with Ms. Emma."

"Jesus..." I heard my wife whisper in amazement. "He's absolutely right. That's the answer to all of this. I'll call the nursing home and see if they'll take the piano as a donation. Maybe put it in the dining room for the residents to play on."

I was blown away myself. No more ghosts, no more talismanic pictures. And Harold could go and be with Emmaline until she passed, and they could be together again forever. It all made too much sense. This was the answer we had been looking for, and it had come from the mouth and the mind of a five-year-old. At least that's what I thought then.

As I said before, looking back on it all now, and being able to see the things that happened back then a little more retrospectively, I have to wonder if maybe that wasn't Harold Larson's final trick on us-to manipulate our little boy into telling us exactly what the old spook wanted. And if he did, well, that's quite alright with me.

Two days later, I helped three orderlies from Silver Acres load the piano into the back of the box truck they'd brought with them. I gave the wedding picture to one of the men and told him to make sure this went back on top of the piano when they got it to its new home. The orderly smiled and thanked me for both the piano and the picture.

What he didn't know was that he had also just acquired a new resident as well.

THE END