Shane remained right in his spot. Cade dug into his coat pocket and placed an item onto the surface.
An audio recording device. Tiny, scuffed around the borders, the exact sort children utilized for classroom assignments back in the early two-thousands. The plastic casing carried scratches along a single edge, plus a tiny decal rested on the reverse side, largely ripped away, which I identified immediately.
A little dog footprint.
Hope stuck those items onto everything she owned.
“That is… that belongs to Hope,” I breathed out heavily.
“She carried it on her person that evening,” Cade explained. “It was recovered from the accident zone. I have held onto it ever since.”
“You hid this item from my knowledge?”
“Correct. I lacked certainty whether catching her words might heal you. Or shatter you completely again,” Cade explained. “Plus, I felt terrified of making the wrong call.”
I lifted the device. My thumb automatically touched the start switch in the exact way human hands touch items they have waited to use. Then I pushed down.
A brief moment of white noise followed. Next Hope’s tone played out from the tiny speaker, pristine and heartbreakingly full of life:
“Dad promised he would repair my bicycle stoppers this weekend… yet I believe he will fail to remember once more. It is alright, though. He always fixes the mistake using sweet breakfast cakes.”
A tiny chuckle. Lord, that beautiful chuckle. Afterward, the audio snapped off.
I dropped into a seat.
If I actually repaired Hope’s bicycle… would she have skidded out like that? That failure rested on my shoulders too… Not merely on Shane.
I lacked the ability to halt the weeping.
