It was a bold move to bring it. I had no idea how she’d react, but I was tired of things being so heavy and serious all the time. She rarely smiled, and when she did she grimaced like it hurt her, and it never reached her eyes. Hopefully, playing for her would cheer her up.

She opened the door. “Come in,” she said.

“Thank you,” I replied as I moved past her.

She immediately spotted the violin, and her eyes grew huge. “You play?”

“I do, but I’m not very good. I don’t sound anything like you.” It didn’t matter how much I practiced; my playing would never match hers. Music required soul, and I didn’t have it. Not like she did. Not even close. “Do you want to play?”

She didn’t even think about it before shaking her head. “Will you play something for me?”

“Sure,” I said, more nervous than I’d been at any of my recitals. I rubbed the locket around my neck out of habit, like I did whenever I performed. I smiled at the sudden realization that I wouldn’t have to touch her picture to bring her presence with me into my next recital, because she would be in the audience.

Mom laid Shiloh at the top of the bed and put two pillows on each side of her so that she could give me her full attention. Maybe soon she’d let herself sleep in it too. She sat in the center cross-legged as I brought the violin up to my chin. I’d tuned it earlier today, so it was ready. I counted down the beat in my head, hoping I would make it through the piece without too many mistakes. The only reason I ever played was in remembrance of her, and it felt so strange to have her sitting on the bed in front of me. I shook out the nervous tension in my shoulders and stood straighter. I never looked at anyone when I played. It made me too anxious. I stared at my bow as I strummed the beginning measures of the new Taylor Swift song. My confidence grew as I went along, and I moved easily into the next song when I finished. It took me a second to look up, and when I did Mom was silently weeping. I didn’t move to comfort her, like everyone else always did. Sometimes you just had to feel a moment, and this was one of those times. I kept playing, making my way through all the songs I knew, and started over at the beginning when I had finished.

“Wow,” she said after my fingers were too tired to play anymore. “Thank you, Abbi. Thank you.”

She was beaming with happiness, and I couldn’t keep the cheesy grin off my face, but I didn’t care.