Being Yours
‘Sing, Cliff.
He shrugged. ‘Okay, kiddo, you asked for it.’ And then he sang, his voice rising far above the lighter voices of the women and children as he belted out a chorus of ‘Johnny Appleseed’.
Lynne looked at him in astonishment. Amanda turned and stared up into his face, her hands on his knees, her knees on his feet. He grinned down at her and kept on singing. The one-man band, realizing he was in danger of being drowned out, played louder. The children clapped harder, most eyes turned to the extremely loud man now providing most of the entertainment. And Michael stopped bellowing.
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