CHAPTER 5 – The Song That Refused to Die
CHAPTER 5 – The Song That Refused to Die
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
I stared at the photograph while Vivian looked everywhere except at it.
The little girl couldn't have been more than five years old. She wore denim overalls, two uneven braids, and a grin so bright it seemed untouched by the world around her.
She held the guitar like it was the most precious thing she'd ever owned.
The same kind of guitar Colin had bought for Lila.
The same kind Everett seemed to hate.
"What's her name?" I finally asked.
Vivian's lips trembled.
"Grace."
I whispered it back.
"Grace."
"I named her after my grandmother."
"You've never stopped thinking about her."
"There hasn't been a single day."
Vivian gently traced the edge of the photograph.
"The couple who adopted her lived in North Carolina."
"You kept in touch?"
"Only through Jonathan."
"He made sure she was safe."
She nodded.
"Once a year."
"Always anonymously."
I studied the picture more carefully.
"So this festival..."
"It was the only time I saw her after the adoption."
"You were there?"
"I wasn't supposed to be."
A sad smile crossed her face.
"I stood behind the audience wearing sunglasses and a hat."
"And she never knew?"
"No."
"Jonathan arranged it."
Her voice grew softer.
"He said a mother deserves at least one memory."
I looked at the little girl on the stage.
"What was she playing?"
Vivian laughed through her tears.
"'You Are My Sunshine.'"
My chest tightened.
"Lila plays that."
"I know."
"I taught her."
Vivian looked at me with surprise.
"Jonathan taught me."
For a moment, three generations seemed to exist in the same memory.
Jonathan teaching Vivian.
Vivian teaching Colin.
Me teaching Lila.
The song had survived longer than Everett's control ever had.
That evening I returned home carrying copies of only a few documents.
The originals stayed locked inside the deposit box.
Colin was in the backyard trying to help Lila plant tomatoes.
She wasn't smiling.
She carefully patted dirt around the tiny plants without saying much.
When she saw me, she ran over.
"Mommy!"
She wrapped herself around my waist.
"I have something for you."
From behind her back she produced a folded piece of construction paper.
Inside was a crayon drawing.
Our family stood holding hands.
Me.
Colin.
Lila.
And between us...
A guitar.
"It's beautiful."
"I made a new one."
She pointed proudly.
"So Daddy doesn't have to buy another."
I looked at Colin.
His eyes filled instantly.
He walked away toward the fence before Lila could see him crying.
Later that night, after Lila was asleep, I found him sitting alone on the porch.
"I failed her."
He didn't look up.
"You can still choose differently."
"I froze."
"I know."
"My whole life..."
He laughed bitterly.
"...I thought surviving my father made me strong."
He finally looked at me.
"But watching him hurt our daughter..."
His voice cracked.
"...made me realize I've only been surviving."
I sat beside him.
"You can't change Sunday."
"No."
"But you can decide what happens next."
For the first time since Everett shattered the guitar, Colin nodded without hesitation.
"I don't want Lila growing up afraid of him."
Neither did I.
The following afternoon, my phone rang.
The caller ID read:
Everett Mayfield.
I almost ignored it.
Instead, I answered.
"Natalie."
"I hear you've been spending time with my wife."
Straight to the point.
"She invited me to lunch."
"You've become close."
"She's Lila's grandmother."
A pause.
Then his familiar, icy voice returned.
"I'll make this simple."
"I'm listening."
"Bring Lila to dinner Sunday."
"No."
Silence.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me."
Another pause, longer this time.
"You don't keep my granddaughter away from me."
"You broke her guitar."
"It was a toy."
"It was a gift from her father."
"It was teaching her foolish ideas."
I took a slow breath.
"You made a six-year-old believe she'd done something wrong."
"I corrected her."
"No."
My voice remained calm.
"You bullied a child."
The line went quiet.
Then Everett laughed.
"I suppose Vivian has been filling your head."
"She doesn't have to."
"I've watched you for years."
His tone sharpened.
"Careful, Natalie."
"Or what?"
"You enjoy your house?"
My grip tightened around the phone.
"You enjoy Colin's salary?"
There it was.
The threat.
"You think everything belongs to you."
"Because it does."
I almost smiled.
He had no idea how dangerous that sentence would become.
"You should think carefully before making enemies inside your own family."
"I don't have enemies."
"You will."
He hung up.
An hour later, someone knocked at our front door.
A delivery driver handed me a long rectangular package.
There was no return address.
Inside was a brand-new children's guitar.
Beautiful.
Handcrafted.
Far nicer than the first one.
Attached to the neck was a small card.
For Lila. Dreams should never be punished.
No signature.
Only a pressed white lily tucked beneath the ribbon.
I recognized it immediately.
Vivian.
She couldn't undo what Everett had done.
But she was trying to make sure one little girl never believed his version of the world.
As Lila carefully strummed the new guitar that evening, filling our living room with uneven, joyful notes, my phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn't Everett.
It was an unknown number.
The text contained only one sentence.
If you want to know how Jonathan Mayfield really died, stop trusting the death certificate.
A second message arrived before I could react.
Someone in the family watched it happen.
May you like
Then, before I could reply...
The number disappeared from service.
