The Music Box Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Text

  About the Author

  By Kassandra Lea

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  The Music Box

  By Kassandra Lea

  It’s the eve of Alvin’s favorite holiday—the little-known St. Nick’s Day. His devoted boyfriend, woodworker Milo, has been planning for months to make it a day neither of them will forget, and their peaceful annual nighttime walk will pale in comparison to what Milo has secreted away in the basement.

  In memory of Muzz.

  “ARE YOU ready to go?” Alvin Griffin asked as he pulled on a knit cap. A glance out the nearby window revealed dancing snowflakes in the glow of the porch light. It was the fifth of December and time for one of his favorite traditions, the presence of the snow adding to the magic. Alvin rocked back on his heels, barely containing his excitement. Tonight was their official kickoff to the Christmas season. “Come on or I’ll go without you.”

  “No, you won’t,” replied Milo Abernathy. He stepped into the foyer, yanking up the zipper of his favorite hoodie, the cuffs tattered with loving use. His black hair stuck up here and there, as if he’d been napping instead of cleaning up their dinner dishes. “You’d wait forever.”

  “Maybe. Do you really want to find out, though?”

  Milo chuckled. “Okay, okay, just let me put my boots on.”

  Alvin shot another look out the window while Milo sat on the stairs to slip on his boots. This was his favorite time of the year, the epic whirlwind of days that started with the spookiness of Halloween and segued into the yumminess of Thanksgiving, the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it trip to Christmas, and the culmination that was New Year’s. He fully embraced each and every one of the holidays, knowing he was blessed to have found a lover like Milo, someone who indulged him.

  But it was this little known, often overlooked holiday that proved to be his favorite.

  “All good,” Milo said. He stood, pulling a pair of those one-size-fits-all gloves from his pockets. “Shall we, my dear?”

  “It’s about time.”

  To second his opinion, their dog, Widget, a scruffy mutt they’d rescued from the shelter, barked. She’d been sitting by the front door, leash in her mouth. Alvin clipped it to her collar and the trio stepped out onto the porch. The December air was crisp, filled with the chill of winter, and to Alvin it smelled pleasantly of snow, which Milo claimed he could never sense. There was also the heady scent of fireplace smoke in the air.

  “Have I told you how much I love this?”

  “I love it too, because it’s time spent with you.”

  Heat spread across Alvin’s cheeks. It seemed Milo always knew exactly what to say, and some of the lines he delivered could easily be considered as cheesy by other people, but Alvin never saw them that way, always hearing the inflection, the heartfelt sentiment. When it came to Milo, he’d truly won the lottery.

  He reached out, taking Milo’s hand in his. Snow crunched under their boots as they strolled down the driveway to the sidewalk. The only other sound was the jingle of Widget’s tags, the world wrapped up in that wonderful hush that fell every time the flakes started drifting down. No one else seemed interested in venturing out, and it added to the magic, making Alvin feel as though they were strolling through a tiny village encased in a snow globe.

  “Beautiful night for a walk,” commented Milo.

  “Definitely.”

  Alvin turned his gaze toward the sky, watching as fat fluffy clouds raced across the inky darkness. Every once in a while, there would be a break revealing a glittery smattering of stars. He found it hard to believe they were on the cusp of a winter storm. By this time tomorrow, they’d likely be buried in a foot or more of fresh powder.

  Snowed in with my favorite man, Alvin thought, smiling faintly.

  “Oh, look, the pastor’s added a new Santa to their display,” Milo pointed out, drawing Alvin from the cozy, slightly naughty fantasy he’d wandered into. A day spent in bed with Milo faded from his mind, his focus turning back to the present.

  Every fifth of December, once the sun had disappeared below the horizon, the two of them would stroll through the neighborhood and admire the lights and holiday displays of their community. Alvin loved the way the strands twinkled against a backdrop of white.

  “That’s certainly one cheerful-looking Santa,” Alvin said, noting the ebony hue of the figure, its smile jolly and its animatronic arm waving. “Wonder if they plan to get him a missus?”

  “Wouldn’t that be cute? We’ll have to ask at dinner this weekend.”

  “Ah, and there’s the giant menorah. I love how the Goldbergs do their house entirely in white and blue.” To accompany the large glowing menorah, a wooden dreidel, roughly the size of one of those boulders people landscaped with, sat square in the front yard, bathed in blue light. It had been a Hanukkah present from Milo three years back, carved from a large tree trunk. A Star of David sat atop a light post. “We’ll have to remember to check with them on when they’d like us over.”

  “I don’t know where my yarmulke is,” Milo grumbled.

  “No worries. I know exactly where it is.”

  Their conversation lulled as they admired the work of their neighbors and friends, very few of the houses dark and devoid of the holiday spirit. Even when Alvin began to feel chilled, dreaming of a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him back home, they kept strolling, hand in hand. Widget, with her thick fur coat and her puppy booties, was content to keep going. Eventually Alvin laid his head on Milo’s shoulder.

  “Is there anything more beautiful than this?” he asked. “I hope this is one tradition we never stop.”

  “As long as we’re together, my dear, I’ll walk anywhere with you anytime and in any kind of weather,” declared Milo, giving Alvin’s hand a squeeze. He sniffled. “However, I think we should maybe consider making our way back home. I can’t feel my nose, and besides, at this rate St. Nick won’t be leaving any gifts on the porch for you.”

  Alvin was reluctant to head back, but he had to admit, the cold was stinging his cheeks, which he suspected were a bright red by now. “I suppose. I just don’t want the magic to end.”

  “With you, it never does.”

  They shared a quick kiss.

  ALVIN’S CUCKOO clock ticked across the hall in Alvin’s office. The night had grown late, the two of them retiring to bed after their walk and a cup of cocoa, with marshmallows and a peppermint stick of course because Alvin never drank it any other way. Milo fought to stay awake as his beloved drifted off to sleep beside him, making contented sounds in his sleep, but it was no easy feat—the day had been tiring.

  However, if he planned to finish up his special gift in time, he needed to sacrifice some sleep to see it through to completion.

  So Milo waited.

  When the cuckoo signaled midnight, Milo shifted his position, eyeing Alvin. A corner of his mouth quirked up as he admired the man slumbering at his side. Alvin’s blond hair was a mess, having been mashed down by his knit cap and now mussed from turning in his sleep. He looked peaceful, lost in the comforting embrace of dreams. This was one of his favorite moments, when he could admire his beloved without being noticed, to see the true Alvin underneath everything.

  Milo counted his many blessings.

  He hadn’t always believed such fortune to be part of his future.

  Blowing Alvin a kiss, he carefully, slowly, slipped out from under the blanket and headed for the hallway. At the door he paused, glancing back to see if his departure had disturbed his partner. Alvin had turned on his side, his back now to Milo.

  “Sweet dreams,” he whispered. “See you in a few.” Widget
, who rested at the foot of the bed, eyed him, but stayed in her place.

  Milo quickly headed down the stairs, mindful to skip the fourth from the bottom since it tended to creak, and in the silence of the night, he worried it would be impossibly loud. He stopped again by the front door, peering out at the world. The gentle snow from earlier had picked up, the wind whipping the tiny flakes around in whirlwinds. Milo shivered at the wintry wonderland.

  “To shovel tomorrow or not,” he muttered. He could only imagine the size of the drifts that would be waiting for him. A previous horseback-riding accident had left Alvin with a bad back, so Milo took it upon himself to handle the necessary winter task.

  From there, Milo went to the door under the stairs, which led down into their basement. Two years after they moved in, they’d taken upon the task of finishing the space, turning it into a bit of an entertainment room. Flipping on the lights, Milo descended, heading for the door in the back corner.

  When he was young, his father spent hours with him teaching him the art of woodworking. At first, Milo loved spending those hours with his dad, but when he became a teen, he hated them, thinking such things uncool. And what a fool he’d been; if only he could have those years back. Before his eighteenth birthday, he lost his parents, their car swept away during a nighttime storm. For months all he saw every time he closed his eyes was the sad expression on his father’s face every time Milo rejected him for fun out with his friends.

  It wasn’t until he met Alvin that Milo found his way back to the hobby.

  From there he turned it into a fruitful business, a legacy from his father, done in the honor of a man who meant the world to him.

  It was Alvin who suggested Milo have two shops. The one out back in the shed was for larger pieces like the dreidel he’d made for their friends. This back room in the basement was for smaller, more intimate projects.

  Like the one sitting on the top shelf, squirreled away behind a box and covered by a towel. He hadn’t wanted Alvin to stumble upon it by mistake and ruin the surprise.

  Milo moved the box to the side and retrieved the gift, placing it atop his worktable. It was mostly done, but if he wanted to give it to Alvin as a St. Nick’s gift, he needed to put on the finishing touches and leave it out on the porch.

  Alvin had already done so with his gift. Milo had overheard him slipping it out the front door while he’d been upstairs getting ready for bed. While he could hold on to it until Christmas, Milo feared he might be unable to contain himself, and besides, he knew how much Alvin loved the little holiday, so he wanted to present him with something meaningful.

  And what could be more perfect?

  Milo peeled back the towel.

  A music box.

  He ran his hand along the smooth sides, sanded lovingly and fitted into place without the use of nails or other metal pieces. Sure, he could have used a block of wood and hollowed it out, but Milo wanted the intricate design of the corners to fit together like a puzzle. The front and back were stained darker than the sides to give it a bit more pop.

  The top, however, was what made it personal, sentimental, a true work of love.

  The lid was rough bark, a stark contrast to the smooth sides. With the tip of his finger, Milo traced the design in the middle, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he recalled how it came to be. This, needless to say, was the year he outdid himself, the year he’d spend the rest of his life trying to top.

  “He’ll love it,” Milo said to the empty room.

  He gently removed the lid from the box, having yet to officially attach it to the rest with tiny hinges. Under a tray, velvet lined, the mechanical workings were secreted away. Plucking the box from the table, Milo twisted the key on the bottom a few times. The strands of a familiar song filled the space.

  “Excellent.”

  Milo hummed along as he dug out the music box and the tools needed to finish the job, his mind flashing back a few years as his gaze slipped over the lid once again.

  “It’s finally ours,” Alvin said, staring at the house in awe. It was, Milo knew, a dream come true for both of them. They’d been together going on five years and had spent the last one trying to find the right house to make theirs, the one in which to build their future. Alvin wrapped his arm around Milo’s waist. “I love it.”

  “I’ll love it more when the boxes are empty,” joked Milo, his gaze momentarily passing to the moving truck parked in the driveway. Their driveway. No more street parking or underground garages. No more listening to their neighbors through thinly shared walls. A large backyard for Widget. Sure, a house came with all sorts of dedicated chores, like yardwork, but Milo looked forward to it.

  Mostly to the memories they’d make.

  “Then let’s get to it.” Alvin started for the truck. “At least so we can have a place to dine and sleep. The rest can be dealt with later.”

  The next few hours passed in the grueling task of shuffling boxes and pieces of furniture into the house. Milo let Alvin direct things, knowing how his beloved liked to stay organized, and his career as an interior designer was taking off. Once they’d known the house was theirs, the keys dropped into their hands by the realtor, they’d wandered the empty rooms designating each place an identity, a purpose, and so the boxes were moved into the respective rooms. From the vast collection of books into a spare bedroom meant to serve as the library, to the dishes into the kitchen.

  Milo was in the process of moving things to the back shed, having dropped off a box of tools, when he paused. He stood in place for a few minutes, simply staring.

  “What are you doing?” Alvin called, coming down off the back porch. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing, merely thinking.”

  “About?”

  Milo gestured at the tree, a massive oak, a few feet from the shed. “I’ve always wanted a yard full of trees. Our own trees. No having to walk down to the park to enjoy the great outdoors.” He placed a hand against the rough bark, then glanced over his shoulder. “Would you like a swing? Think about it, a swing of your own. Come out here at dusk, the sun setting and painting the sky a rainbow of colors, birds singing, just swinging.”

  As he spoke, Alvin’s face lit up. “You, you would do that for me?”

  “Of course, why not? Whatever you want, my dear.” Milo turned, placing his hands on Alvin’s waist and drawing him closer. “From here and until the end of time,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. Their lips met, and Milo caught the hint of chocolate, Alvin’s favorite indulgence, and usually his go-to treat when feeling stressed. His heart fluttered, warmth spreading through him. When they parted, he was pleased to see the rush of color in Alvin’s cheeks. To know he still had that power over him, it filled Milo with a sense of awe. “I have an idea.”

  “Another one?”

  “Yep.” From his back pocket, Milo retrieved a knife he’d been using and returned to the tree. Like he’d seen in the movies many times, Milo began to carve into the bark. He started with the traditional heart shape, then placed his initials and Alvin’s within, stepping back to admire his work. “What do you think?”

  “No one has ever carved my name, well, my initials, into a tree,” Alvin said. He rubbed his hand over the fresh carving. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I love it. I love you. I can’t wait to build a life with you here.”

  “We started building a life the moment your eyes met mine,” Milo stated. Then he smiled coyly. “Want to go christen our new bedroom?”

  It had been a wonderful night, one that quickly rose to the top of his favorite to remember, especially when he was away from Alvin. And he’d made the swing, waiting until their fourth or fifth month, giving them time to settle in before stringing up the rope. In the following months, Alvin spent plenty of time out under the massive crown of the oak, sometimes with his sketchbook on his lap as he worked out the plans for someone else’s space.

  There was once or twice when the two butted heads and he found Alvin out there, hands clingin
g to the ropes, staring at the heart, and the two would resolve their issues.

  They’d even spent one blissful night slumbering under the tree, a romantic picnic dinner to mark their one-year anniversary in the house turning into something far more intimate. There under the stars, only the two of them lost in each other.

  The tree, it became like a member of the family without either one of them realizing it.

  And then it happened….

  The storm hit.

  Thunder crashed, rattling the windows as though someone dropped a bomb somewhere on the street. While vivid lightning flashed incessantly to be reminiscent of a strobe light, the two of them sat in the living room, watching the local weatherman discuss the dangers of the storm. Alvin, always the one to be prepared, had lots of candles and placed them strategically around the house, just in case, he’d said, and a set of flashlights waited on the coffee table.

  “It’s really coming down out there,” Milo remarked, standing by the window, watching the rain run off the porch roof in liquid sheets. The trees danced and swayed under the guidance of the wind. “I haven’t seen rain like this in, well, I can’t recall having ever seen rain like this.”

  “Milo.”

  Something in his boyfriend’s tone caused Milo to turn. Alvin sat on the couch, clutching a pillow to his chest. Unease danced in his pale green eyes. Milo crossed the room, sank down beside him, and pulled him into his comforting embrace. He kissed Alvin’s cheek. The weatherman was talking about hail. Milo worried about the roof, should it actually hit them, another thing that came with being a homeowner.

  The lights flickered.

  Alvin trembled.

  Then they went out, plunging them into gloomy darkness. A cry of surprise escaped from Alvin, who somehow cuddled closer to Milo. Candlelight flickered, creating dancing shadows. Without the whine of the TV, they had front row seats for the concert Mother Nature conducted.

  “We’ll be fine. I promise,” Milo stated. “I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you.”