Officer Alvarez smiled. “He also talked to them about social media. Especially what happens when somebody gets bullied online.”
Caleb frowned. “He never told me.”
“I didn’t know this either,” I said.
“He was incredibly dedicated, even though he was only a volunteer,” Marcus said. “Maybe he didn’t think it was important enough to announce.”
I finally asked, “Why are you here?”
Marcus glanced toward the principal and chuckled.
“We’re here to meet with Principal Bennett about a personal-safety workshop we’re doing here in two weeks. We came to make early arrangements.”
He glanced at the guitar. “We heard that song and got distracted.”
Alvarez nodded. “Your husband used to play it. We recognized it immediately and had to meet you.”
“I’m sure we will talk to the principal later,” Marcus said.
“My dad taught me this song,” Caleb said.
“He played it all the time at the center,” Marcus said. “The kids would complain that he only knew five songs.”
A faint smile crossed Caleb’s face. “Sounds like him.”
Marcus laughed. “Oh, they gave him trouble. He’d tell them, ‘Five good songs are better than fifty terrible ones.'”
I laughed, then unexpectedly burst into tears.
Whenever David felt close again, my emotions became difficult to control.
Marcus’s face softened.
“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No,” I said quickly. “You didn’t.”
Caleb watched him closely.
“My dad sang there?”
“With that guitar sometimes, unless I’m mistaken.”
Caleb tightened his grip. “It was his.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then yes. I’ve heard that song before.”
He took out his phone.
“I think I might even have something.”
After scrolling through his photos, he showed us an old picture.
David sat on a folding chair at the youth center, holding his guitar, surrounded by roughly 15 teenagers.
He was laughing.
Not sick, thin, or exhausted, but healthy and happy.
Caleb caught my arm. “Mom.”
“I see him.”
Seeing David that way brought both comfort and pain.
Marcus sent me the picture.
Then he offered, “You two should come by the center sometime.”
Caleb looked away. “I don’t know.”
“No pressure,” Marcus said. “But there are people there who remember him.”
That evening, Caleb studied the picture for nearly an hour, zooming in on each face.
Eventually, he asked, “Why didn’t Dad tell us?”
“I think he mentioned the center once or twice.”
“Not like this.”
“No.”
After a long pause, Caleb whispered, “I thought I knew everything about him.”
His words hurt more than I’d expected.
