leave my mother anyway, could I?" he asked,
searching for confirmation,
"No, Uncle Linden, you couldn't," I said,
patting his hand. I sat at the edge of his bed. "It's very hard to leave a mother when you are
all she has, very hard." he muttered.
"Mommy has changed so much since little
Claude's death. I feel like a stranger in my own
house." I told him. "I don't know if things will ever be
like they were again."
He nodded. "I know what that's like." he said.
"When we moved out of the main house. I felt like a
stranger. And when we moved back, it was never the
same. I tried to make it feel the same, put things back
where they were, get rid of things the Eatons had left behind, but it was different. Everything changes.
Sometimes, you just have to let go." he said. "I'd like to." Heyden moaned. "So, let go. What
would you do?"
"We're going to continue developing our
singing act together. Uncle Linden," I told him. "No
matter who doesn't like it."
"Why would anyone not like it?" He thought a
moment. "Is it one of those loud, heavy metal things?"
he asked with a grimace and his hands over his ears. "No," Heyden said. laughing. "Hardly." "So?"
"There is just a great deal of sadness and blame
raining down on us these days, Uncle Linden." I said,
trying to explain. "We're caught in the middle." "I've been in that sort of storm too often." he
said. nodding. "And there isn't an umbrella strong
enough."
Heyden shook his head. "Oh, yes, there is." he
said. "Our music is our umbrella." He looked at me.
"And it is strong enough."