“About that.”
Her brother arrived twenty minutes later.
His name was Martin Sloan, a broad-shouldered man with a beard and the careful hands of someone accustomed to repairing delicate instruments.
He carried a familiar black case.
Julian stood immediately.
“You brought it?”
Martin placed the case on the table.
“I haven’t sold it.”
Julian looked at me.
Then at him.
“I can’t buy it back.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
“I don’t want charity.”
Martin’s eyebrows rose.
“Neither do I.”
He opened the case.
The red Stratocaster lay inside.
Julian’s fingertips hovered over it.
Martin said, “Your father brought this guitar into my shop before your birthday.”
Julian froze.
“What?”
“He chose it.”
I stared at Martin.
“I thought Thomas ordered it online.”
“He told you that because he was terrible at keeping surprises.”
A laugh escaped me through my tears.
That was true.
Martin continued.
