No history.
That hurt more than he expected.
“I don’t want a replacement.”
Daniel nodded.
“Good.”
Noah looked at him.
“It isn’t one.”
“What?”
“Your mother’s guitar cannot be replaced.”
Daniel gestured toward the instrument.
“This is yours.”
Noah said nothing.
“Not hers. Not mine. Yours.”
The shop owner smiled quietly and walked away to give them privacy.
Daniel continued.
“I’ve spent four years watching you carry your mother through an instrument.”
Noah lowered his eyes.
“That isn’t a bad thing. But maybe it became too much.”
“I loved that guitar.”
“I know.”
“I still do.”
“I know.”
Daniel touched the new case.
“Your mother gave you music. She did not give you a job guarding a museum piece for the rest of your life.”
Noah swallowed.
“And the old guitar?”
“Being repaired.”
Noah looked up sharply.
“What?”
“The luthier says he can stabilize the body and replace part of the neck.”
“Will it sound the same?”
“No.”
Noah looked down.
Daniel added, “But it will still be your mother’s guitar.”
Noah ran his thumb along the new instrument’s neck.
“Why buy this?”
“Because you need something you’re allowed to live with.”
Noah frowned.
Daniel smiled faintly.
“You were afraid to scratch your mother’s guitar.”
“I was careful.”
“You were terrified.”
Noah almost smiled.
Daniel continued.
“This one gets scratched. It gets played at school. It gets taken outside. It gets dropped someday. You take it to college. Maybe you play it for somebody you love. Maybe someday your kid spills juice on it and you lose your mind.”
Noah laughed despite himself.
Daniel reached into his pocket.
“And I had something added.”
He pointed inside the sound hole.
There, written on a small custom brass plate, were six words:
For wherever the music takes you.
Noah stopped breathing.
It was almost their mother’s inscription.
Almost.
Her original words had been:
For wherever the music takes us.
Noah looked at his father.
Daniel said, “I changed one word.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother isn’t asking you to stay where she left you.”
Noah’s eyes filled.
“She’d want you to go somewhere.”
Noah looked down quickly.
Daniel pretended not to notice him crying.
After a moment, Noah asked, “How much?”
“None of your business.”
“Dad.”
“I got a good deal.”
“Dad.”
Daniel sighed.
“Your mother had a life insurance account I never closed.”
Noah stared at him.
“I kept a small portion separate. I always thought I’d use it for something connected to you kids.”
“You used Mom’s money?”
“Some.”
Noah looked again at the guitar.
“That makes it worse.”
“No.”
Daniel shook his head.
“It makes it family money buying something for family.”
They stayed in the shop for nearly an hour.
Noah played quietly.
At first, every chord sounded wrong because it was new.
Then gradually it simply sounded different.
When they returned home, Emily was sitting on the front porch.
She saw the guitar case.
Her face fell.
Noah noticed.
Daniel carried groceries inside without saying anything.
Noah remained on the porch.
Emily looked at the case.