There are a few things I’d like to show you.”

I wanted to ask what things.

I wanted to know why he was suddenly willing to discuss a subject Dad had avoided for years.

But Marcus was already heading toward the loading bay.

“Sunday afternoon,” he called over his shoulder.

“And bring that guitar of yours.”

I stood there listening to the stockroom door swing shut.

For the first time, I wondered whether my father’s silence had less to do with what he’d forgotten…