Chapter 3

Dad sat on the couch, clutching my registration form, the edges of the paper crumpled from his grip.

Mom said, "Don't look like that. It's bad luck. The doctor said my pregnancy is unstable, so don't upset me."

Dad looked up. "Elaine, Lily's dead."

"I know," Mom said, rubbing her belly. "That's why you should focus on Mia now. Nothing can happen to this baby."

"Her name is Lily," Dad said.

"I never said she wasn't Lily," Mom snapped, suddenly smashing the glass on the floor. "But when she was alive, she stole Mia from me. Now that she's dead, is she still trying to steal Mia's luck?"

Dad fell silent.

The doorbell rang.

Mom thought it was the crib delivery people, so she quickly tidied her hair. "Coming!"

The door opened, and outside stood an old lady in a gray coat.

Ms. Rowe was right behind her, along with a middle-aged woman carrying a stack of sheet music.

The old lady seemed thin and frail, resting on a wooden cane, but her voice was steady. "Is this Lily Harper's house?"

Mom was stunned for a moment. "And you are?"

Ms. Rowe said, "This is Grace Sterling."

Mom's expression shifted in a flash.

She pulled the door open wider, forcing a smile. "Please, come in. The place is a mess. Hope you don't mind."

Grace didn't move.

She looked over at the black trash bags piled in the corner of the living room. "What are those?"

Mom quickly said, "Oh, nothing, just some old things Lily doesn't use anymore."

Ms. Rowe walked over and opened the bag.

Inside were my sheet music, notebooks, old dresses, and the award certificate with a corner torn off by Mom.

Ms. Rowe pulled out the award, her voice trembling. "You're throwing Lily's things away like they're just garbage?"

Mom's face turned red. "She's gone. What's the point of keeping this stuff? Besides, we're about to have a new baby. We can't have all this old stuff cluttering up the place."

Grace tapped her cane sharply against the tile floor.

The sound echoed, just once.

Mom instantly fell silent.

"Where's Lily's piano?"

Dad glanced toward the balcony.

I drifted over, too.

The old keyboard had been shoved out onto the balcony, its power cord tangled in a messy knot, with a plastic tub weighing it down.

Mom rushed to explain, "She hardly ever practiced—just fooling around, really."

Ms. Rowe let out a bitter laugh. "She went without lunch every day, practicing in the music room for an hour. Did you even notice?"

Mom gritted her teeth. "That was her own choice not to eat. How is that my fault?"

The middle-aged woman walked over to the keyboard, moved the plastic tub aside, and pressed a key.

The key let out a dull, broken sound.

She frowned. "This key's been busted for at least half a year."

Ms. Rowe said, "Lily practiced on this old keyboard and still became the best in the whole school."

Grace finally stepped inside.

She didn't sit down. Instead, she stood in front of the pile of trash bags and pulled out my notebook.

At the very back, there was a little note tucked between the pages.

It read: "Grandma Sterling, if I ever get to perform, I want to ask you. Can a girl be loved just for being herself, without having to be like anyone else?"

After reading it, Grace's hand clenched, the veins on the back of her hand standing out.

Mom craned her neck, trying to peek. "What did she write?"

Grace tucked the note into her bag. "You don't deserve to read it."

Mom's face darkened. "That's too much, Mrs. Sterling. I'm her mother."

"Her mother?" Grace shot a look at Mom's belly. "You drove a living child to her death, and now you're clutching your belly, calling yourself a mother?"

Mom clutched her stomach, her voice suddenly sharp. "So now it's all my fault? If she hadn't dragged Mia around during the fire, would Mia have died?"

Dad finally spoke up. "The firefighters said Mia hid in the closet by herself."

Mom spun around and glared at him. "Shut up!"

Dad stood up, still clutching my registration form.

"Lily was only six. She dragged her injured, burned leg all the way to the door, calling out for help. The doctors said if she'd been even a little later, she wouldn't have survived."

Mom lunged for the form. "Now you speak up for her? Why didn't you say anything when she was alive?"

Dad had no answer.

I drifted in front of him, and suddenly, I wanted to laugh.

Yeah.

When I was alive, he always told me to just hang in there.

If Mom was upset, he'd say, "Just hang in there."

If Mom yelled at me, he'd say, "Just hang in there."

Whenever Mom made me wear Mia's dresses, Dad would just tell me, "Just hang in there."

Now that I'm gone, he finally has the guts to call me his child.

Too late.

Grace turned to Ms. Rowe. "Gather up all of Lily's pieces."

Mom immediately tensed up. "Work? What work?"

Ms. Rowe said, "Lily wrote those pieces herself."

Mom scoffed like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. "A ten-year-old writing her own music? Please, she probably just copied it from somewhere."

The middle-aged woman flipped open a sheet of music and pointed at the scribbled corrections. "These are her own edits. Just because you can't understand it doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

Elaine's face turned red. "Even if she wrote it, it's still ours."

Grace looked at her. "What are you planning to do with her music?"

Elaine was caught off guard, then snapped, "She's gone. I'm her mother, so everything she left is mine."

Ms. Rowe was furious. "You were just about to toss it!"

Elaine dragged the black trash bag behind her. "I'm not throwing it away now. What's wrong with that?"

Grace took out a business card and placed it on the table.

"I'll handle Lily's funeral. I'll make sure her music is taken care of. If you touch her things again, I'll call the police," Grace said.

Elaine slapped the card away. "Who are you to stick your nose in our family's business?"

Grace bent down, picked up the card, and put it back on the table.

"Because on the registration form she filled out before she passed, she listed me as her guardian," Grace replied.

The living room fell silent.

Elaine immediately turned to Charles. "Did you sign it?"

Charles shook his head.

Ms. Rowe said, "Lily came to me herself. She asked me, if no one in her family wanted to sign, could she ask someone who enjoyed listening to her play to sign instead."

Elaine's face fell, as if she'd just been slapped.

She stormed into my room and started rummaging through my backpack.

She tossed my notebooks, pencil case, and even a half-used eraser onto the floor.

"What was she hiding? What else did she hide?" Elaine demanded.

I watched as she turned my backpack inside out.

A photo slipped out from the inner pocket.

It was a photo of me and Mia.

Before the fire, Elaine was holding Mia's hand, and I was standing beside them with a half-melted ice cream in my hand.

On the back of the photo, I'd written a line in my messy handwriting.