Free Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody) by Ron C. Nieto

out, to tell him that I knew him and I liked what I had seen.
    “Hello, Keith,” a voice said just then. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
    I jumped, as if the bed had burned my behind, and whirled around, realizing full well what this must have looked like.
    Mr. Brannagh resembled his son a little, except his hair was short and not dyed, but starting to grey anyway from age. He also had more weight to him, even though he still was slim for a man’s standards. Currently, his eyes were glinting in that way that said “parent caught the child with the hand in the cookie jar” and the expression made his face light up and shine in sharp contrast to Keith’s.
    I wondered for a moment what such a look of mischief would look like on the son and then slapped myself—home alone, in room, sitting together in bed, hello?
    “Hi, Mr. Brannagh,” I said, smiling. “I’m Alice, do you remember me?”
    “Alice?” he frowned a bit, and then a huge grin parted his lips. Definitely, Keith had gotten his facial expressions from someone else. “Of course, Andrew’s daughter! It has been so long, how are you?”
    “I’m fine, thank you. Yourself?”
    “Oh, good, good, I don’t complain. Are you staying for dinner, Alice?”
    “Dad, she just came to hear me play for a while,” Keith cut in, standing from the bed.
    “It’s been a while since you played for someone,” he said, and he sounded hopeful.
    Keith answered with a shrug. “I might be playing music for the theatre group’s play this year. She’s the main character,” Keith added, as if that explained my sudden presence.
    “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “It’s not a sure thing.”
    “Of course it is!” I said, earning a grateful grin and an annoyed frown. “Mr. Hedford—that’s our professor and play director—loves the theme Keith’s prepared, and he’s ecstatic at the chance of having his own soundtrack!”
    “You’re even composing? You stopped sharing your own music years ago, Keith! This is awesome! Alice, why don’t you stay to celebrate?”
    Keith lifted his hands in surrender. “Fine, make a big deal if you want, Dad, but leave her out of it. She needs to be back home.”
    I realized two things. One, Keith was right and I should go back home before my own parents went berserk. Two, I actually was sorry I had to leave.
    I tried to reach a compromise.
    “Keith is right, I have to return home, but perhaps we can have lunch or something another time to celebrate.”
    “That would be lovely. I hope to see you around more often, Alice,” Mr. Brannagh said with a smile. He disappeared into his own room, presumably to discard his jacket and get comfortable.
    More often, he’d said. Indeed. It had been six years.
    “Thanks for everything,” I said, turning to Keith. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Rehearsal.”
    “Must I come?” He pouted.
    “Yes. Mr. Hedford will be relieved to see you. And you shouldn’t hide.”
    He rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain. “Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”
    I started back down the hallway when Mr. Brannagh’s voice carried down. “Keith, you’re not planning on letting her go alone, right?”
    “It’s quite alright, Mr. Brannagh…”
    “Dad, she prefers to go alone…”
    “Grab your coat, boy. You are supposed to have manners.” The tone was cajoling, almost joking, but it was a clear order and Keith sighed, grabbing a denim jacket and his house keys and mouthing sorry.
    Once outside into the crisp air, we walked the familiar streets back to my house in silence. I only broke it about half the way there.
    “Your dad’s great. He hasn’t changed at all from what I remember.”
    He shrugged. “He has. He had to. But he’s pretty okay, yeah.”
    I didn’t want to elaborate on whether he had changed because of the long time passed— ouch —or because of the death of his mother— double ouch —so I asked instead,
    “Why would you be sorry for walking me