I switched off the computer and picked up my jacket.

Before leaving, I looked at the photograph of Dad and Mom beside the old band van.

He was smiling in it.

Really smiling.

For years, I’d thought that version of my father had disappeared when Mom died.

Now I wondered whether he’d spent the rest of his life trying, in his own flawed way, to find him again.

I wished we’d found each other sooner.

I wished he’d told me about the studio.