Caleb frowned. “Music?”
“Sometimes. Especially when everyone was tired of listening to lectures.”
A boy near the back called out, “He wasn’t that good.”
Everyone laughed.
Caleb laughed too.
A real laugh.
I hadn’t heard one
like it from him in months.
On our drive home, he didn’t say anything for 10 minutes.
Then he asked, “Do you think Dad knew those people would remember him?”
“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t.”
I glanced at him.
He was watching houses pass outside the window.
“I thought when somebody died, everything they did just… stopped.”
“They stop being here physically,” I said carefully. “But their impact doesn’t disappear.”
Caleb nodded.
That evening, he ate dinner at the table.
Three days later, I came home and found his friend
Noah sitting in our living room.
I nearly embarrassed Caleb by reacting too strongly.
