“Our home office was cleared after he died.”
“Storage?”
“Some boxes in the attic.”
Julian looked toward me.
“Mom.”
I recognized that tone.
“What?”
“Dad’s amplifier.”
“What about it?”
“You never let me throw it away.”
“No.”
“The back panel is loose.”
I stared at him.
He had complained about that panel for years.
Thomas’s old amplifier sat beneath a sheet in our attic because I had never found the courage to decide what to do with it.
Julian continued slowly.
“Dad used to hide my birthday presents inside amps because he knew you never touched his music stuff.”
I looked at the envelope in my hand.
Then at Rebecca.
Then at Officer Daniels.
An hour later, we were home.
Julian climbed into the attic ahead of me.
Dust floated through narrow beams of sunlight.
The amplifier sat exactly where I remembered it.
We carried it downstairs.
Julian removed four screws.
