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“They’re cracking down on drunk drivers these days…”
    Webb looked up and saw me. Without missing a beat, he waved for me to sit down in a chair in front of the desk. He got rid of the guy on the phone and stood up.
    He gave me a big smile. “You’re Carol’s kid, aren’t you? I’d know you anywhere.” He came around the desk and put out his hand.
    I took it shyly. He sat down in a chair beside me. Clean jeans. High-top runners.
    â€œShe was a beauty. You look just like her.”
    I smiled like a dork.
    â€œWe were kids when we met. Grade ten.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œI had a crush on her. But she was in love with Freddy from day one.”
    â€œThen you knew my father too?”
    He grinned. “Skinny little guy.”
    â€œAnd you knew the other dudes in the band.”
    â€œIggy and Stu, yeah. They were the cool guys. I was the nerd. I did my homework. They played music. The rest is history.”
    For a second I was irritated with my mother. She could’ve picked anyone and she picked Freddy. Then it dawned on me that I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.
    â€œYou were just a kid when…You don’t remember anything, do you?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œLucky,” he said. He smiled sadly. “You were real cute. A neighbor was looking after you when I got there. Then Child Welfare came in. It broke Carol’s heart to give you up. No shortage of offers for you. She asked me to sort it out.”
    â€œYou arranged for my adoption?”
    He fixed his eyes on me, searching. “I hope it worked out.”
    I didn’t want to make him feel bad. I shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” Wasn’t his fault I didn’t get along with Shelley.
    â€œYou got some money coming when the paperwork’s done. Mostly from the sale of the house.”
    â€œHouse?”
    â€œDon’t remember that either, eh? She asked me to sell it. The money paid for her legal fees. Appeals. None of it helped.” He shrugged. “There’s a good chunk left. It’ll take awhile for you to get it.” He looked at me like he was sorry. “I’ll send you a statement, so you can see what’s what.”
    Then he smiled again. “Got something for you.” He pointed to the floor behind him. “It’s been cluttering up my office.”
    He got up and ducked into a corner behind his desk. When he stood up, he was carrying a leather guitar case.
    â€œIt was your father’s. Carol kept it all these years.”
    I jumped up, tingling all over. He put the case down on his chair. I just stood there staring.
    â€œGo on,” he said. “Open it.”
    I flicked open the latch and raised the cover. The light hit the shiny wood. A Gibson ! The best guitar in the world. And even better: my father had played it. I lifted it in my arms like a baby.
    â€œYou play?” he asked.
    I smiled and nodded, plucking the strings. It was out of tune.
    â€œHey, Mr. Webb!” Someone was in the front office.
    A man poked his head in the door. “Gotta talk to you, Mr. Webb. Cops said I violated parole. That’s bull! All I did was stick a note under her door…”
    Webb stayed calm, must’ve been used to this kind of interruption. “I told you not to contact her. That means no note, no phone call, nada. Wait outside.”
    â€œI love her, man. I’d never hurt her.”
    Webb walked over to the door and put his hand on the dude’s shoulder. “I’ll be with you shortly. Wait outside.”
    While he was busy, I noticed some papers lying in the guitar case. I put the Gibson down carefully on my chair and picked through the sheets. It was music, some with notes written by hand.
    Webb freed himself from the guy and came back into the room.
    â€œDid you meet Diane?” he asked. “She said she was bringing you some of Carol’s stuff.”
    I nodded. “You know Diane