“Of course.” He took Arthur’s place and took the sleeve from the compartment. He slid the record out carefully. It too was blank, with no picture in the center frame. He set the sleeve aside as he placed the record on the platter, the small stacking spindle sticking up in the middle. He flipped the switch on the side of the player and was delighted when the record began to spin, crackling quietly. “I think we’re in business,” he murmured.
“It would appear so,” Arthur replied.
He lowered the needle. The speakers crackled a little louder. And then—
A man began to sing, saying darling, you send me, I know you send me.
“Sam Cooke,” Linus whispered. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Oh. Oh. That’s wonderful.”
He looked up to find Arthur staring at him just as Sam sang about how he thought it was infatuation, but that it had lasted so long.
Linus took a step back.
Arthur smiled. “Can we sit?”
Linus nodded, suddenly unsure of himself, which wasn’t anything new. The room felt stuffy, and he was light-headed. He was probably just tired. It’d been a long day.
He picked his report off the chair before sitting down. He set it on the table next to the record player as Sam continued on woo-wooing. Arthur sat in the remaining chair. Their feet were so close, Linus noticed, that if he extended his leg a little, the toes of their shoes would touch.
“I heard the strangest thing tonight,” Arthur said.
Linus looked up at him, hoping Arthur couldn’t read his thoughts on his face. “What would that be?”
“I was telling the children good night. I start in order, you know. From one end of the hall to the other. Lucy is always last, given that his room is in mine. But Sal is second to last. And before I knocked on his door, I heard some new, happy sounds that I did not expect.”
Linus fidgeted in his seat. “I’m sure it’s normal. He is a teenage boy, after all. They like to … explore. So long as you remind him that—”
“Oh my, no,” Arthur said, fighting a smile. “No, it wasn’t that.”
Linus’s eyes bulged. “Oh dear. That’s not—I didn’t mean—good heavens, what on earth is wrong with me?”
Arthur covered an obvious laugh with a cough. “I’m pleased to hear you’re so open-minded.”
Linus was sure he was terribly red. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“I can’t either, to be honest. Who knew Linus Baker could be so … you.”
“Yes, well, I would appreciate if it never left this house. Not to Zoe. And especially not to the children. Sal, of course, is old enough to understand such things, but I think it would destroy Chauncey’s innocence.” He frowned. “Not that I’m sure how he could ever do—does he even—oh no. No, no, no.”
Arthur snorted. “Lucy is younger than Chauncey. Don’t you think we should worry about his innocence too?”
Linus rolled his eyes. “We both know that isn’t a problem for him.”
“Too right. But, as I’m sure you’re now aware, I wasn’t speaking about … that.” The last word came out delightfully low, as if it curled around his tongue and teeth before exiting between his lips. Linus was instantly sweating. “I was talking about the clack of typewriter keys.”
Linus blinked. “Oh. That … makes sense, now that I think about it.”
“I bet it does. It was surprising, but not because it existed at all, but because it was much louder than usual. Most nights, it’s faintly muffled because he’s writing in his closet, the door shut.”
Linus understood now. “I didn’t—if I overstepped, I apologize.”
Arthur held up a hand as he shook his head. “Not at all. It was … more than I could have hoped for. I like to think it means he’s healing. And you played a part in that.”
Linus looked down at his hands. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. He merely needed—”
“He needed to hear it spoken aloud,” Arthur said. “And I can imagine it coming from no better person.”
Linus jerked his head up. “That’s certainly not true. It should have come from you.” He winced. “That wasn’t an admonishment. I meant that it wasn’t my place to suggest such things.”
Arthur cocked his head. “And why not?”
“Because I’m not—I shouldn’t interact. At least not on such a personal level.”
“It’s against your RULES AND REGULATIONS.”
Linus nodded as Sam Cooke gave way to The Penguins, singing about their Earth Angel. It caused his heart to stumble in his chest. “It is.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“It’s what’s required of someone in my position. Because it allows me to remain impartial. Unbiased.”
Arthur shook his head. “These children aren’t animals. You aren’t on a safari with binoculars, watching them from a distance. How are you supposed to evaluate the children if you don’t even take the time to know them? They’re people, Linus. Even if some of them look different.”
Linus bristled. “I never suggested such a thing.”
Arthur sighed. “That—I apologize. That was … an oversimplification. I’ve dealt with prejudice for a long time. I have to remind myself that not everyone thinks that way. My point is you did something remarkable for a boy who came to us only used to derision. He listened to you, Linus. He learned from you, and it was a lesson he needed to be taught. I don’t think he could have asked for a better teacher in that regard.”
“I don’t know about all that,” Linus said stiffly. “I only did what I thought was right. I can only imagine what he’s gone through, and you as well, as the master of this house. Especially with wards so unique.”
“Yes,” Arthur said. There was something in his voice that Linus couldn’t quite place. “As master of this house, of course. It’s why I—how did you put it shortly after your arrival?—don’t let them leave.”
“I could have worded that better,” Linus admitted. “Especially knowing what I do now.”
“No, I don’t think you could have. It struck to the heart of the matter quite cleanly. I prefer bluntness to obfuscation. Things get lost in translation. Which is why when I tell you that I believe you helped Sal, I mean every word. I didn’t ask him why he moved the desk. I only asked if he’d had help. He told me he had. And that it was you. It wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks after that.”
“It was merely a suggestion,” Linus said, uncomfortable with the praise. “I told him that while it was okay to want to feel small, he shouldn’t forget that he can be big when he wants to. I hope it wasn’t too out of line.”
“I don’t think it was. I think it was the right words at the right time. As I said before, he’s healing. And with that healing comes trust, though it needs to be well-earned. I think you’re on your way.”
“Then I would feel honored.”
“Would you? That doesn’t sound like it’s proper. I’m sure the RULES AND REGULATIONS would—”