“Yes Hank?” Elizabeth said, looking up from her music. She hated it when he did this, interrupted her practice sessions. She thought she had him trained well. He hadn’t done it in several months, and they had been blissful months of quiet, focused repetition. She had been doing so well. He had been doing so well. But alas, once more, ruined.
Hank stood in the doorway, hands behind his back, expectant. “Guess what?” he said, excited.
“Hank, you know I’m – ”
“Practicing, I know. I’m sorry. But I had to, this is so important. Guess!”
“I dunno, you forgot I had an audition in four days’ time?”
Hank stopped, chagrined. “Well, okay, yes. I did. But this is great. Trust me. I’ll give you a hint.” He revealed his hands, holding a plastic bucket.
Elizabeth looked at him, wary. “Umm, you built a sand castle?”
“You…I dunno, saved a turtle? Just tell me, I need to get this passage down.”
Hank gave a little hop. “There’s a hole!”
“A hole? Where?”
“In the bucket!”
“Come on, Elizabeth, think about it!”
“Hank, once again, working on something.”
Hank sighed, then cleared his throat. “Ahem,” he said, in mock preparation, adjusting his stance. Then he began singing: “There’s a hole in my bucket, dear Liza dear Liza…” He looked at her with greater expectation.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Elizabeth stood and ushered him out, closing and locking the door behind him.