"I can heal trees," I said. "And they're wood."
"So try the table," Sylvia proposed. "It's going to cost you anything?"
Danny looked at me hopefully.
I went over and touched the table. At first nothing happened. And then the shattered bits of wood sort of shimmered together and it was whole again.
Danny's and Sylvia's eyes bugged out. So did mine, as a matter of fact. Only Tim didn't look surprised, just a little sadder.
Mother appeared from the kitchen so fast, you'd think she'd caught teleportation from Father. "Kevin!" she cried, her eyes shining with an enthusiasm that my healing of people had never evoked in her. She was a conscientious psychiatrist, but a passionate cook. "Come in here and see what you can do with this stove."
My siblings treading on my heels, I went in and fixed it. Like that. She looked at me with genuine mother love in her eyes. "My boy," she breathed adoringly.
"Pianos!" Danny yelped suddenly. Everybody looked at him. "If you worked along with me, Kev," he explained, "nobody would ever have to know if I dropped 'em. I could be a senior executive and no questions asked."
"But that wouldn't be ethical," Sylvia suggested, with a sidelong glance at me.
"My ethical values have come down to Earth," I said. "Be glad to help you out, Dan. And the same goes for you, Sylvie. 'Use Kevin Faraday. A Million Times More Efficient than Glue.' Nothing for nothing any more, though—I have to be as professional as everybody and I've got a career to get started."