“Andre,” Claire coos. She turns to me, pulling me close, and I fall into her arms, clinging to them for dear life. She strokes my back slowly, rubbing it in a circle. We sit in silence for what feels like minutes. A comfortable, emotional silence.

Eventually, Claire pulls me back and holds me at arm’s length.

“I said he’s living a full and happy life. Now you need to do the same. That’s what he would have wanted. That’s what David would have wanted. That’s what I want for you. Now you just have to want it for yourself.

“Michael found what he’s passionate about. He found what keeps him going, something to live for. Honor the time you two spent together, and what you had, by doing the same.”

“Hey, Mom, Isobel is wond—”

I barely have time to turn my head away and clean up my face before Blake barges in. He stops midsentence, looking at me, then at his mom, then at me again, confusion written all over his features. Claire sighs.

“Blake McIntyre. Can’t you ever knock?”

But Blake ignores her and beelines straight for me. I want to push him away—I try to push him away—but he kneels in front of me, his hands grasping mine, with that stupid grin on his face.

“I don’t know what has you so upset, but whatever it is, I’ll take care of it, okay? You can count on me.”

I smile, shoving him softly. “What would make me feel better is if you don’t say cheesy things like that ever again.”

“As long as you don’t cry ever again, then we have a deal.” Blake uses his thumb to brush away my tears. He leans up, pressing a kiss under each of my eyes.

And in that moment, right there, I’ve never felt happier.

“I’ll be right out,” I promise him. He stays for a moment, as if he wonders whether I’m going to ask him to stay. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

Slowly, he stands. “Isobel is wondering where that Harvard mug is that you said you got her.”

Claire points in the general direction of the kitchen. “Top shelf.”

“You’re a blessing in disguise,” he praises his mom, kissing her forehead. “Take care of my boyfriend, all right?”

“I have every intention to.”

Once Blake is gone, Claire rests her hands on top of mine, keeping me from moving. “There’s something else, Andre.”

She takes the book back and opens to the final page, where an envelope is taped. Slowly, Claire peels it off and hands it to me.

The envelope is heavy, and I can feel multiple pages inside. I flip the envelope over and see handwriting that isn’t like anyone else’s. It takes me a moment to remember the chicken scratch.

Michael.