The sound that woke sixteen-year-old Noah Bennett was not loud enough to frighten him at first.
It was a dull wooden crack from somewhere downstairs, followed by a metallic snap and then silence.
Noah opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.
For several seconds, he stayed completely still.
Then he heard his sister’s voice.
“Oh my God.”
Noah threw off his blanket.
His bare feet hit the hallway floor hard as he ran toward the stairs.
“Emily?”
No answer.
He took the steps two at a time.
When Noah reached the living room, he stopped so suddenly that his shoulder nearly struck the wall.
His guitar was on the floor.
Not lying there.
Destroyed.
The neck had split close to the headstock. Two strings had snapped and curled upward like wire. The wooden body had a deep crack running from the bridge almost to the bottom edge.
Beside it stood his eighteen-year-old sister Emily, one hand covering her mouth.
“Noah,” she whispered.
He did not answer.
He simply stared.
It was a sunburst Fender acoustic that had belonged to their mother.
For anyone else, it would have been an old guitar.
For Noah, it was the last thing in the house that still felt like her.
Their mother, Rebecca Bennett, had died from cancer four years earlier.
Before she became sick, she used to sit at the end of the living-room couch after dinner and play old songs while Noah listened from the carpet.
Sometimes Emily would sing.
Sometimes their father, Daniel, would complain that nobody knew the second verse to anything.
Those nights had been ordinary while they were happening.
After Rebecca died, they became sacred.
Noah slowly walked toward the guitar.
“What happened?”
Emily shook her head quickly.
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t know?”
“I came downstairs and it was like that.”
Noah crouched beside the instrument.
His fingers hovered over the broken neck but did not touch it.
“No.”
He said the word so quietly Emily almost missed it.
“No, no, no.”
“Noah, I swear, I just found it.”
He finally touched the guitar.
The split wood shifted underneath his fingers.
His face changed.
Emily stepped closer.
“Maybe it fell.”
Noah looked up sharply.
“It was in the stand.”
“I know.”
“The stand is against the wall.”
“I know.”
“So how did it fall hard enough to break the neck?”
Emily folded her arms.
“I said I don’t know.”
Noah looked around the room.
The guitar stand was still upright near the wall.
That made everything worse.
He looked back at Emily.
“What did you do?”
Her expression hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“You did something.”
“I didn’t touch your stupid guitar.”
Noah stood.
“Don’t call it stupid.”
“I’m just saying you’re acting like somebody died.”
His jaw tightened.
“Mom played that guitar.”
Emily immediately looked away.
“That doesn’t mean I broke it.”
“You were the only person down here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s six in the morning.”
“So?”
“So Dad left for work at five-thirty.”
Emily threw her hands up.
“Fine. Accuse me. You always do.”
“I don’t always accuse you.”
“Yes, you do. Every time something goes wrong, somehow it’s Emily.”
Noah stared at her.
“You’re standing next to my destroyed guitar.”
“And I told you I found it that way.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
Noah followed her with his eyes.
“Emily.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“If you did this, just tell me.”
Her face went cold.
“I didn’t.”