“Why?”
“Because Lucas didn’t do anything.”
“You can be jealous without blaming him.”
Julian considered that.
“I don’t like knowing Dad had time with somebody else.”
“I know.”
“Does that make me awful?”
“No.”
He looked toward the guitar.
“I thought learning more about Dad would make me feel closer to him.”
“Sometimes it does.”
“And sometimes?”
“Sometimes it makes you realize how much of another person you can never completely know.”
He played a soft chord.
“That’s depressing.”
“A little.”
I leaned my head against his.
“But it also means the people we love remain bigger than our memories of them.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “That sounded like something from a greeting card.”
“It was still true.”
“Barely.”
I shoved him gently.
He laughed.
In May, Westbrook held its spring music night.
Julian had refused to perform solo for three years.
Thomas’s death had made the stage feel connected to an audience member who would never be there again.
