A Song for Julia

you the truth, after last weekend I didn’t think I’d ever see Crank again. But we got in a car accident last night. I kind of backed into his car and wrecked it. So I ended up here because I offered him a ride home.”
    “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he said. “He finally got himself a car? And already wrecked it?”
    “Oh no,” I said, my eyes widening. “He just got it?”
    “Must have,” he said. “He’s always mooching rides to the T.”
    “Oh, God, I feel terrible.”
    That, of course, was when Crank walked into the room. He wore … no, I must be imagining it. No, he was really wearing them. Too small Mickey Mouse pajama pants, with a plain white t-shirt that didn’t fit all that well, either. Not that I was complaining.
    “Feel terrible about what?” he asked, stumbling toward the coffee pot.
    “Your car!” I replied.
    He shrugged. “I know you’ll make good on it. And I’m not missing much, last night was the first time I’d driven it anywhere other than the 7-11 around the corner.”
    “Oh, wow. Now I really feel terrible.”
    “Seriously,” Crank said, “don’t.” He put what looked like about fifteen spoons of sugar in his coffee, doused that with a liberal helping of cream, then stirred.
    “If you’re gonna take all the sugar in the house,” Jack said in a booming tone, “you’d better be prepared to go buy some later.”
    “Sure, Dad,” Crank said. His face flashed irritation.
    “How’d your show go last night?” As Jack asked the question, I heard footsteps in the living room, then saw Sean walk by the doorway and keep going, reading a thick textbook as he walked.
    “It was all right,” Crank replied, at the same time I said, “It was amazing.”
    Jack smiled and brought the plate of bacon and set it in the center of the table. Crank said, “Coming from someone with your musical taste, I’ll take that as a real compliment.”
    “You’re a musician?” Jack asked.
    “Not really,” I said. “Skilled, but no talent.”
    “Oh?” Crank said. “You didn’t say that. What do you play?”
    I shook my head. “Piano. I’d be embarrassed to play in front of you. But my mom had me in lessons from the time I was two.”
    “Since you were two?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Suzuki lessons?”
    I nodded, taking a sip of my coffee and trying to pretend I wasn’t incredibly uncomfortable. I couldn’t figure Crank out. Last night, he was well beyond the verge of offensive. Why was he so friendly now? What changed? Just his mood? If he was that moody, then he was right—I should stay the hell away.
    Jack chimed in, “Your mother wanted you to take Suzuki lessons when you were that young. But it was too expensive.”
    Crank’s face flashed irritation, almost anger. That was the second time in a few minutes. Like his father couldn’t say anything right. Of course, who was I to speak? It’s not like I’ve got the best relationship with my mother. On the other hand, Jack was so nice. Crank changed the subject. “What’s for breakfast?” Which was obviously not a well thought out question, since his father was at that very moment placing a huge platter of pancakes on the table.
    Jack gave him a scornful look and spoke in a gruff, sarcastic voice. “Go get your brother. Breakfast will be a surprise.”
    Crank opened his mouth, then thought better of it and walked out of the kitchen.
    “I never said I raised a pack of geniuses,” Jack said, shaking his head and giving me a sly smile.
    I tried to hold it in, but I couldn’t. After a few seconds, I burst into laughter, and he joined in. It felt good.
    A minute or so later, Sean and Crank came back in. Crank sat to my left, nearest the kitchen wall, and Sean to my right. Their father took the seat across from me. He startled me by reaching out and taking both boys’ hands. They, in turn, reached out to grab mine, and all of them bowed their heads. Never one to disrespect customs, I did the same, staring holes in the table. I was hyper aware of the fact that my left hand was in Crank’s. His was hard, much larger than mine. Warm, but not sweaty. I could feel the calluses from playing guitar on his fingertips.
    “Bless us, oh Lord, for this bounty which we are about to receive through Christ, our Lord, Amen.” It sounded like he was rushing through. In my family, we only said grace for major holidays, if then, but I remembered enough to know he’d left out about half the words. Jack paused half a