Cal
“Gold Soundz”—Pavement
Before I went to bed, I glared at my nightstand. It was covered in green leopard print that was peeling and curly. I was afraid to open the drawer.
What if Dad hadn’t left me a request? A message? A keepsake to hold on to?
I started making up excuses for him in my head. Why should he have left me a note? It wasn’t like I still lived here. He’d had no way of knowing I’d end up staying home for any amount of time. And he had seemed so forgetful, so spacey the months before he’d moved into hospice.
Just open it, Cal, you big stupid baby.
My heart felt like a mangled piece of paper, ready to be torn. Decisions, decisions. In the end, hope trumped fear. I pressed my eyes shut, curled my fingers around the knob, and pulled the drawer out inch by inch. I opened my
