He placed it on the kitchen table.
“He wanted you to open this only after he was gone.”
I laughed bitterly.
“What, did he save every dollar of rent I paid him?”
Frank remained serious.
“I wouldn’t make any guesses until you see what’s inside.”
I ripped away the tape and opened the box.
At first, I wondered if he’d brought the wrong one.
Inside lay an old leather vest covered with band patches, backstage passes, guitar picks, and pictures of Dad performing.
Then I found a photograph of Mom.
She stood beside Dad, smiling at him as he played. He looked happier than I’d seen him in fourteen years.
Memories of those musical evenings in our living room flooded back.
I collapsed into Dad’s chair, crying so hard that Frank had to support me.
He stayed until I’d calmed down, then quietly left.
