Sammy spots me, walks over, gives me a quick hug, and smiles as he looks down at the case I’m carrying. “You here for lessons?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

I wave my manicured nails. “No, thanks. I don’t want calluses on my fingers.”

“I wanted to call you,” says Sammy. “But I didn’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I understand. Really. It’s good to see you.”

“Garrett was one of my favorite customers.”

“I know. He truly loved this place—and you.” I lift the case onto the counter. “I brought this back because I know this is where Garrett would want it to be.”

Sammy opens the case. The Martin is in perfect condition. No one’s touched it since Garrett died.

“He was pretty good on the guitar,” says Sammy. “He’s amazing on that video.”

“What video?”

Sammy’s brow wrinkles. “You haven’t seen it?”

“Seen what?”

He pulls out his iPhone. “Garrett’s on the internet. You both are.” He taps his screen and scrolls to a YouTube video. He turns the screen toward me. The video has over a million views. When it starts playing, I feel my knees buckle. It’s Garrett, sitting on a stool on a tiny stage. The Sunapee Roadhouse! Somebody posted his amateur-night performance!

Some researcher I am. I didn’t even know the video existed.

Sammy hands me the phone then steps back. I watch the whole video, tears streaming down my face. When it’s done, I hand the phone back. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me, Sammy.”

“He really loved you, Brea,” he says. “I can hear it in the way he sang to you.”

With a Kleenex from a box on the counter, I dry my eyes and clear my throat.

“Now. Sammy. About the guitar. Garrett left it to me, and I’m giving it back to you—on two conditions.”

“Which are?”

“You have to display it, put it out there, where anybody who wants to can play it. And you can never sell it. It has to stay here with you, forever.”

Sammy lifts the Martin gently out of the case. “Deal.” He walks over and sets it on a metal stand near the counter, where a pin light hits the gems in the fretboard. “It’ll be my star attraction.” Sure enough, as soon as he puts it down, customers start wandering over to admire it.

Sammy walks me to the door, then turns to give me another hug. “Come back to visit anytime,” he says. “I promise it will be here as long as I am.”

I squeeze his shoulder. Can’t really talk. I pull away and wave goodbye.