Chapter 16

In April, Martin called.

“There’s something I’ve been holding for you,” he said. “I wanted to wait until everything was settled.”

When I arrived, a small cardboard box sat on his desk.

Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was Dad’s old black phone.

“The court released it from evidence last week,” he said. “Claire, there’s one more file on it. I found it the day before the will reading, and I did not open it. It’s labeled in his handwriting, on a sticker stuck to the back of the phone: For Claire only. After it’s over.”

My throat tightened.

“You haven’t listened to it?”

“It isn’t mine to hear.”

He placed the box in my hands.

“I’ll be in the next room. Take as long as you need.”

He quietly closed the door.

I sat by the window holding Dad’s phone.

It felt lighter than I remembered.

One corner of the screen was scratched where he had once dropped it on the garage floor.

I remembered him complaining and refusing to replace it.

“If it still makes calls, it’s not broken.”

I found the file.

One word.

Claire.

I pressed play.

A pause.

Blankets rustled.

Then Dad cleared his throat.

His voice was thinner, but unmistakably his.

Warm.

Gruff.

“Hi, kiddo. It’s Dad.”

I covered my mouth.

“I don’t know exactly when you’ll be hearing this. Martin says it’ll be after everything’s over, and I hope that means it’s all over the right way. I’m recording this in the hospital, and the nurse just left, so I’ve got about ten minutes before she comes back and tells me I need to rest.”

He chuckled softly.

“I am terrible at resting. You know that.”

I laughed through my tears.

“I want to tell you a story. Do you remember when you were six, and I took the training wheels off your bike? You were so nervous. You said, ‘Dad, don’t let go.’ And I said, ‘I’ve got you.’ And I ran behind you, holding the back of the seat, all the way down Alder Street.”

I closed my eyes.

“Somewhere around the Alvarezes’ house, I let go. I didn’t tell you. You kept going. You rode the whole rest of the block by yourself, and when you reached the corner, you turned around, and you saw I was way back by the mailbox, and your face…”

His voice caught.

“Claire, I will never forget that face. You weren’t scared. You were so proud. You yelled, ‘I did it!’ as if you had invented the bicycle.”