Easton walked into the room, his fingers brushing over the keyboard. His eyes were shining. “He hasn’t been to school. Just brought these the day after you were brought in. And he played for you all day every day. Papa had to force him to eat and sleep. Then when he had, he was back here, playing for you.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Bonn.” Easton ran his hand down his face. He looked tired. So tired. Guilt assaulted me. “He’s talented, sis. I’ll give him that.” He stared at the instruments, lost in thought. “There was this one piece he kept playing on the keyboard…”
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