Music Makers by Kate Wilhelm

never mentioned to anyone how old I am.”
    We were all looking at the pill, and Vernon said in a strained voice, “Dad, I think you’d better put that in something.”
    The pill in Dad’s hand was changing, there were tiny thread-like wisps emerging on one side. Dad touched it gingerly with his fingertip, enough to roll it a bit and the threads vanished.
    “I think you’re right,” Dad said. Vernon got a plastic baggie out and Dad let the pill fall into it. He zipped the baggie closed. He tilted his head slightly in the direction of Vernon’s study and said to me, “I guess we’d better let you get on with giving Jason his lunch.” They walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway to the study, entered and closed the door behind them.
    It seemed to take forever to get Jason to eat, then to read him a story and tuck him in for a nap. The staircase never appeared while he was in bed, and I was free as soon as he was bedded down. I hurried to the study. No one was there.
    They could have gone out without passing through the kitchen, and evidently that’s what they had done, and I was furious. A pill that grows and retracts tendrils, strange men passing out pseudo drugs, appearing and disappearing staircases, suddenly it was all too much. At that moment if the UPS man had come knocking, I would have been tempted to get in his brown truck and go wherever he was going.
    Dad’s car was still in the driveway and our car, Vernon’s and mine, was still in the garage, so they couldn’t have gone far. Sometimes when Vernon was stuck on an article he went for long walks through our half of the subdivision, and I decided that was what they were up to.
    Walking, talking, leaving me out of it altogether, whatever it was. Thinking about it only made me angrier. Then I heard a dog barking and Vernon came into the living room where I was and he was leading a dog on a leash.
    I sank down onto the sofa and closed my eyes for a moment. They were both still there when I opened them again. “Where did that come from?” I asked.
    “Pet store,” he said. “Cute, isn’t he? He’s a cocker spaniel.”
    “Vernon, I may be losing my mind,” I said carefully. “Would you like to explain anything to me? Anything at all before I start screaming.”
    The dog had black and white spotted long hair, with the requisite oversized silky ears, big soulful eyes, a plume of a tail that was wagging his whole body at the moment.
    Vernon sat down next to me and unleashed the dog. He began to run around the room sniffing everything, including me.
    “He’s for Jason,” Vernon said. “He’s housebroken, not quite two years old and answers to the name of Spotty.” He took a rubber ball from his pocket and held it up, as if to prove a point.
    “What in God’s name is going on here?” I demanded, and heard my voice rising before I even thought of yelling.
    Vernon took my hand. “April, please believe this,” he said, “I never meant to deceive you, lie to you, but there are a few things I didn’t mention before. I was afraid to,” he said and he sounded sincere, abject even. “I was afraid I’d lose you,” he added in a low voice. “I love you so much it scared me, thinking that I might lose you.”
    It’s hard to stay mad at a man who sounds like that and says that, but I did. “So, what lies, what deceit? How did you get that dog home from a pet store? Both cars were here! Where’s Dad, and why did those men come and give him a pill that puts out tendrils?”
    I would have gone on, but he put his hand on my mouth and said in an agonized voice, “I’ve been a fool and I’m sorry. Please promise you’ll hear me out before you say anything else.”
    I nodded and he removed his hand. “That night, when I told you about our family, it was clear that you didn’t believe me,” he said, holding my hand. “I should have told the rest, but . . . Anyway, I didn’t. He’ll outgrow it at about six or seven, that’s true. But not