Chapter 14 - THE VOICE OF JAMES
Solomon kept old voicemail recordings from James and played them when he felt lost.
After losing the Mercer job, Solomon started playing them in the car.
Especially one:
You know what to do. Stop waiting for everybody else to tell you you’re ready.
The voicemail had been about replacing a water heater, but Solomon expanded its meaning and replayed it before interviews, Hartwell, and the appraisal.
Before the day Theo found the suitcase.
He had turned his father’s voice into permission.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Audrey asked.
“Because it sounds pathetic.”
“It sounds like grief.”
Solomon had organized James’s funeral, estate, and house repairs without talking much about missing him. The recordings had become a substitute for asking living people for help.
His therapist asked him to stop treating old voicemails as decision prompts. Solomon moved them into a folder labeled:
DAD — MEMORIES.
Not:
DAD — ADVICE.
Then he told Theo:
“Grandpa’s voice is a recording. He can’t tell me what to do now.”
Theo asked:
“Then who tells you?”
Solomon answered:
“Me. And sometimes I ask people.”
Theo seemed satisfied.
Audrey was too.
A year later, overnight visitation began once a month.
Theo chose to bring the red toy car.
Solomon never mentioned its history.
At bedtime Theo asked to see the old suitcase.
Solomon brought it out empty. Theo put the red car inside, closed it, opened it again, and laughed.
The suitcase became a suitcase again.
When Theo returned home, he told Audrey:
“Dad’s bag isn’t scary.”
She smiled.
Then he handed her something.
A sealed envelope.
“Dad said this is yours.”
Audrey looked at the front.
FOR AUDREY — ONLY IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY THAT FRIDAY.
She stared at it.
May you like
Solomon had finally given her a choice about the secret.
And now she had to decide whether she even wanted the answer.
