Tiana found her brother in the last booth of the diner, turning a coffee mug between his hands.
She placed an envelope beside it.
“The house keys.”
Ben looked up. “You emptied it?”
“Every room.”
Their mother had died in April. By June, they had learned how quickly a home could become an inventory.
Furniture. Dishes. Curtains. Things to sell, things to keep, things neither could bear to decide about.
Ben reached for the envelope.
A smaller key slipped out.
Neither recognized it.
Behind the counter, the waitress stopped wiping a glass.
“Where did you find that?”
“In Mum’s desk,” Tiana said. “Do you know what it opens?”
The waitress looked toward a framed photograph beside the register.
Their mother stood outside the diner in a younger woman’s coat, laughing with three people Tiana didn’t recognize.
“I think you’d better come with me.”
She led them into a small office behind the kitchen.
On a shelf sat an old metal cashbox. A strip of yellowing tape ran across its lid.
TIANA.
Tiana stared at her name.
“Your mother asked me to keep it here,” the waitress said. “She kept meaning to give it to you.”
Inside were photographs, a stack of letters, and a cassette labeled First audition.
Tiana sat down.
At seventeen, she had wanted to sing. Her mother had insisted she learn something reliable first. They had argued for months, until Tiana stopped mentioning music at all.
The first letter began:
I stood outside the hall tonight. I couldn’t make myself go in after what I said to you.
Tiana unfolded the next page.
Her mother had attended every public performance she could find. There were ticket stubs, newspaper cuttings, even a photograph taken from the back of a crowded room.
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
The waitress pulled out a chair.
“She was good at working hard. Apologizing took her longer.”
Tiana looked at Ben.
He shook his head. “I didn’t know.”
At the bottom of the box was an unfinished note.
Could we start again? Perhaps you could sing something for me.
For a long while, Tiana couldn’t speak.
A month later, the diner stayed open late.
Ben moved the tables. The waitress dimmed the lights. Tiana stood beside the window with a borrowed microphone.
She placed her mother’s photograph on the piano.
Then she sang the song from her first audition, all the way through.
End of Narrative
