Annie's Song by catherine anderson

Author:catherine anderson [anderson, catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-08-22T04:00:00+00:00

Curiosity drew Annie from her hiding place between the bed and the wall. A narrow band of light from the hallway spilled into her room through the cracked door. Her gaze fixed on the opening, she moved slowly forward. A few feet shy of the chair, she drew to a stop, went up on her tiptoes, and craned her neck. Through the narrow opening, she could see Alex. He sat on the floor outside her room, his back pressed against the opposite wall of the corridor. In his hands was something long and silver, which he held at an angle to his lips.

Music.

Annie stood there, transfixed. The sound made the little hairs on her arms stand on end. It was so very beautiful.

Scarcely realizing she moved, she stepped closer to the door so she might hear it better, and still the lilting sound beckoned to her. She couldn’t resist inching just a little bit nearer. Then nearer still. Before she knew it, her face was pressed to the crack, her gaze riveted to Alex. Nightmare or enchantment?

To Annie, he seemed to be both, terrifying but tantalizing.

She could see his chest expanding, then expelling as he blew into the mouthpiece, his blunt fingertips gracefully depressing little round keys to produce certain notes. Sometimes, she couldn’t hear them. But most of the time, she could, and they were wondrous.

Suddenly he stopped playing and looked directly at her.

Annie sprang away from the crack, her heart slamming, but even standing a bit away, she could still see his face. He was holding out the silver thing, his eyes compelling. “Would you like to play it, Annie?”

Play it? She pressed a hand to her throat, filled with a longing so sharp it nearly hurt. Music. To actually hold it in her hands ...

Alex sprang to his feet, which sent her staggering backward again in retreat. With a lazy, unhurried air, he approached the door and held the silver thing up near the opening. “It’s easy to play, once you get the hang of it.” He bent his head to peer through the crack at her, his smile reassuring. “It’s a flute. I used to take lessons as a young boy. I had nearly forgotten I still had it.”

Annie couldn’t tear her gaze from his. The flute would never fit through the crack of the door, and he knew it. For him to hand it to her, she would have to move the chair a bit, and while she was doing that, he could shoulder his way inside.

“Come on, Annie. I know you’re dying to try it.” He leaned closer and tapped on the edge of the door with a fingertip.

Then he grinned, slowly and mischievously, his teeth gleaming white against the dark planes of his face. “Open sesame,” he said with a slight jerk of his shoulders, an indication to her that he had chuckled. “The famous words of Ali Baba, the poor woodcutter. Have you been told that story?’’ He held up the flute again to tempt her.

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