Author’s note: This story is told from Claire’s – Daron’s mom’s – point of view.
I had that dream again about my lost boys, the one that’s triggered whenever I catch a hint of their work in the open air.
I’m in my choir robes, but instead of the organ playing, I’m backed by Daron strumming a hymn on an acoustic.
It’s beautiful until Remo steps in. He plays a burning electric lick that makes the music change in a way I don’t want it to. I stop and look to the side in shame because part of me wants to continue singing with it.
That’s when I see Digger standing there in the wings, drunk-sinner pale. I can’t bear to look at him, so I head the opposite direction from where he is, seeking an escape.
I have to walk by Daron as I do. He reaches out like he wants me to stay. My mother’s heart feels pain, but he looks too much like his dad.
So I keep walking.
I look out into the audience to see what they think of me leaving the stage. I catch a glimpse of Courtney in the front row, arms folded across her chest, heart closed.
My older girls are waiting in the wings. They enfold me in their arms, and the evil noise dies down, muffled by their embrace.
The only thing that bothers me at this point in the dream is that I was too weak to save them all, and that when I look into my older girls’ eyes, it’s not grace I see. Instead, it’s jealousy and the look of sibling rivalry won by default.
I wake and know I have a lot more praying to do.