When Rodrigo arrived, he removed his dark shades and filled the living room with his squeaking leather jacket. Amos stood there holding onto a plate as Carmela kissed Rodrigo's cheeks, her cheerful greeting lost in the buzz swirling in his thoughts. Emmy abandoned the table to embrace her father, and suddenly Amos felt like an interloper at an intimate family dinner he didn't belong to.

"Dad, this is Amos." Emmy motioned toward the dining table.

"New boyfriend?" Rodrigo's eyes swept over him, scrutinizing.

"No," Carmela chuckled. "He's the new owner of the SG Gibson you sold twenty years ago. See?"

Lifting the guitar from the coffee table, she presented it to him, and his eyes shifted from Amos to the old treasure. He stroked the glossy surface with his leathery, sun-soaked hands before retracting them.

"Looks good."

"I'm just amazed it's held its shape all these years." Carmela shook her head.

"Well, if the previous owners are anything like me," Amos cleared his throat. "Then they must have treated it with great care."

"Yes." Rodrigo nodded and stepped back, his hands going into his pockets. "But why did you bring it here?" 

"How about we all sit for dinner, and then Amos can explain?" Carmela motioned toward the dining table. "Maybe the two of you can play something after we eat?"

"Sure. I'd love to jam with you," Amos offered, but Rodrigo shook his head and held up his hands.

"Arthritis is flaring up."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No worries. But, let's eat. I'm starving."

"Yes!" Carmela clapped. "Let's eat before it gets late. You know I hate eating late."

"Gaining weight from eating too late is a lie," Rodrigo grunted as they followed Emmy to the dining table.

"It is not!" Carmela smacked his arm. "How do you think I've kept my figure all these years?" 

"From Pilates." Emmy rolled her eyes with a laugh and glanced at Amos. "Don't let her fool you. She gets up early every morning to swim at the recreation center and then does Pilates."

"You're giving away all my secrets!" 

"Don't worry, mom. Amos won't tell a soul. Right?'

"My lips are sealed." Amos pretended to zip them.

"Smart. Very smart." Rodrigo wagged his finger. "I swear, these women will tear you apart if you're not careful."

"What? We are angels!" Carmela motioned between her and Emmy.

"Emmy definitely, but you, on the other hand..." Rodrigo teetered his palm back and forth, followed by Carmela sticking out her tongue at him.

It was surreal watching them. Their relationship was so different from the one portrayed in the journal. Mutual respect and playfulness didn't exist in their youth but instead was forged from dull steel into a sharp and polished blade over the years.

But it wasn't only that. 

Sitting around the table with them and eating dinner felt natural as if Amos had known them for years. They chatted about music, their former bands, and what Amos did for a living. As Rodrigo sat across from him, he forgot about the horrible way he treated Carmela.

Instead, Amos saw a gaunt yet handsome man with salt and pepper hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Despite being in his fifties, he still rocked tight black jeans, a leather jacket, and boots. He also drove a motorcycle, completing his older, rebellious style.

But overall, Amos liked him, and he could tell Emmy was Rodrigo's entire world by the way his eyes twinkled every time he bragged about her cooking and the fantastic work she did with her students.

"I swear that school would be lost without her," Rodrigo declared, causing Emmy's cheeks to warm in color.

"Dad, you say that like I'm the only teacher making a difference there. We have lots of amazing and dedicated staff at Balboa High."

"Yes, but you insisted on creating an after-school program for failing students, and now look at how many have graduated with honors, thanks to you." 

"Dad." Emmy glanced down, hiding her smile. "I'm just an English teacher. My contribution to the community is tiny."

"Well, it's not tiny to me." He reached over and squeezed her hand. 

"I bet you're a great teacher," Amos said.

"The best! Don't let her say otherwise," Rodrigo affirmed.

After dinner, Amos helped Emmy clear the table and grabbed small plates for the cheesecake. He stood with her, side by side, as she slid servings onto the dishes he held out for her. It was a comfortable silence as murmurs from Carmela and Rodrigo's chatter floated into the kitchen. 

"Thanks for helping me," Emmy said. "Your girlfriend is lucky. Most men don't care about helping with after-dinner clean-up."

"Ex-girlfriend," he corrected. 

"Oh, right." Emmy shook her head and slid a cheesecake slice onto the plate he held for her. "How long were you together?"

"Five years." 

"That's a long time."

"Maybe too long."

"So, what made you end it?"

"We didn't see eye to eye towards the end, and I suspected something else was happening. It turns out I was right."

"Did she cheat on you?"

"Yeah..." Amos stroked his fauxhawk. 

"I'm sorry. She's an idiot. And if it makes you feel any better, I know what it's like to date assholes."

"You've been cheated on?" 

"No, but it was a toxic relationship, and I should have seen the red flags from a mile away. But it turns out I'm not quite versed in the ways of gaslighting shitheads. We weren't together long. Only six months, but still. Abuse is abuse."

"I'm sorry."

"It's ok." She shrugged. "At least I learned the red flags, and now I can avoid men like him." 

"There you go. Silver lining."

"Plus, my dad and his biker buddies kind of pumped the fear of God into him," she giggled. "So that was fun."

"I'm sure he deserved it."

"Well, he won't forget me, that's for sure, and hopefully, he'll know better than to abuse the next girl he dates." She grinned and grabbed the plates to take to the dining table but paused when Rodrigo walked in.

"Just need a smoke." He fished a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt. 

"I wish you'd quit. It's going to kill you," Emmy sighed.

"So will cheesecake, but you still make it anyway."

"Not funny." She glared.

"I know..." Rodrigo averted his eyes. "I'll quit one day."

"Soon. Like, tomorrow."

"See what I deal with?" He glanced at Amos. "I think they'll kill me before the cigarettes do." 

"Dad," Emmy growled, but Rodrigo simply leaned in and kissed her temple.

"One day, mija. One day." 

"Don't take too long out there." Her expression softened.

"I won't." He opened the door for the back porch and nodded for Amos to follow. "Join me. Talk to me about your guitar collection."

Outside, the moon was high in the sky, its light painting the yard in silver, as crickets chirped with the faint sound of neighbors still barbecuing for guests. A dog barked in the next yard over, prompting others to do the same. Lightning bugs zig-zagged in neon blinks amidst the dark yard where silhouettes of trees stood tall. For a moment, Amos forgot he was there with a man so different from the one he had gotten to know through the pages of Carmela's journal. 

"I made a lot of mistakes," Rodrigo said, smoke curling from his nose and drawing Amos's attention. "I hurt Carmela in so many ways. When you look at me, I bet you see a piece of shit."

"No. Not at all."

"It's alright. You can be honest."

"Listen, after sharing a meal with you tonight, I just see a good father and friend."

"You're being nice. I don't deserve Carmela's kindness or forgiveness, but I'm glad her heart was big enough to give me chance after chance to redeem myself. I stumbled so many times getting sober, but I kept trying because Carmela gave me the best gift I could ever hope for, and I'd do anything for my daughter."

"What made you decide to get sober for good?"

Rodrigo sighed and flicked ash from the cigarette, crossing an ankle over the other. "I almost died. I overdosed the night before I sold all of my equipment, but Carmela doesn't know."

"So, what did you tell her?"

"Nothing. Just that I was heading to rehab and taking it seriously this time." He blew out a curl of smoke and gave a slight shake of his head before rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I had gone out and met up with old bandmates. I knew it was a bad idea because we drank and snorted everything in sight whenever I got together with Alex and Dave. Plus, I was already pushing my luck with Carmela. She took me in when I was homeless and allowed me to stay at the house, but only if I remained sober around Emmy. Little does she know I was higher than a satellite ninety-five percent of the time."

"You don't think she knew?"

"No. She would have evicted my ass the moment I showed signs of being under the influence," he replied but then teetered his head. "Then again, she always said she worried about me dying and leaving Emmy without a father. So maybe she allowed me to stay so she could keep an eye on me? So I wouldn't rot in the street."

"Sounds like something she would do."

"I've never deserved her love."

"I think you're being hard on yourself."

"I don't think I'm hard enough," he snorted. "That night, I got so high with Alex and Dave, I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I had EMTs hovering over me, and my friends were nowhere in sight. They freaked out when I overdosed and bailed, so it was the prostitute we hired who dialed 911. She even stuck around and told EMT she was my girlfriend. They took me to the hospital, observed me the entire night, and then released me at six in the morning. I remember sitting on the bus, toying with the hospital ID bracelet around my wrist and thinking about how close I came to death—how close I came to making Emmy fatherless. I remember staring out of the windows at the flames of sunrise creeping over the city in a blood orange, and I started weeping. I came so close to doing what Carmela feared most. So close to wrecking my baby girl's life because my death would have scarred her forever. That's when I knew that if I didn't do something to stop it from ever happening again, then I was a dead man."

"And you've been sober ever since."

"It was hard. Harder than anything I've ever done in my life. Yet, I'd never take it back. It's a battle every single fucking day, but I won't go near anything that'll compromise my sobriety. It's not worth it. It's not worth the pain it would cause Emmy. Or Carmela. That day, twenty years ago, I chose sobriety for me, but now I choose it daily for them. Because they deserve it, they deserve the best version of me after all the shit I put them through."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you got sober, and I'd be more than happy to give your guitar back."

"No. Keep it." Rodrigo waved his hand.

"Honestly, I don't mind. I have plenty of guitars. You should see them sometime. Maybe we can even jam out."

Rodrigo gave a soft nod of his head and smiled. "Yeah, maybe one day. I haven't touched a guitar in twenty years."

"What! Why?" 

"Just reminds me of that time in my life when I was selfish and hurt the people around me."

"Does that mean Emmy has never heard you play?" 

"Not since she was little. I doubt she even remembers." Rodrigo blew out smoke.

"Would you play for her tonight? With the Gibson?" As the suggestion left Amos's mouth, Rodrigo's eyes cut to him. Uncertainty dwelled in the man's brown irises as the moonlight shimmered across them. "I'm sorry. That was dumb of me to ask."

"No. It wasn't." Rodrigo stubbed out the cigarette in a potted plant sitting on the wooden railing. "She used to ask me to play for her all the time, but she hasn't asked in years. So maybe tonight is the night?"

He pushed off the railing and headed for the door, so Amos trailed behind him as they stepped back into the house. Carmela and Emmy stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, their shoulders touching with a sway to their hips as music played. Rodrigo took his daughter by the elbow and guided her away, hands still coated in suds.

"Dad, let me wash my hands," she laughed.

"What's going on?" Carmela shut off the water and glanced at Amos for answers.

"He's got something he's gotta do." Amos shrugged.

The four of them moved into the living room, where Rodrigo nudged Emmy to sit on the sofa, and he plucked the Gibson from the guitar case, causing Emmy to gape at her mother with eyes wide. Carmela brought her hands to her chest, the charms on her bracelet clinking. 

"Is he..." she gasped and reached for Amos's hand, squeezing it. "He hasn't played for her since she was a little girl." 

"You used to love it when I played this for you before bed." Rodrigo smiled while tuning the strings. 

When he was ready, he strummed, and a quiet melody rippled from his fingers. The guitar wasn't plugged into an amplifier, yet the notes filled the living room with a sound as pure as an intimate concert venue. The moment Rodrigo began singing, Amos sucked in a breath, his back thudding softly against the wall behind him as a sting of beauty twisted his heart. This family had been through so much, yet even though Carmela and Rodrigo were not together, they were still a unit of one—with Emmy threading them together. 

If Carmela had followed Ben, the moment unfolding in front of Amos would've never happened. He wouldn't have had the chance to see the tears accumulating in Emmy's eyes as she admired her father, with hands on her chest and a heart full of love for a man who was so very flawed yet redeemable.

A knot formed in Amos's throat. 

Hours ago, these people were strangers to him, but now they were more than words etched across crinkled pages in fading ink swirls. Rodrigo played the song the whole way through, his accent husky from age and cigarettes, causing the melody of the lyrics to reverberate in the quiet of the living room. When the last note was strummed, he set the guitar aside, and Emmy sprang from the sofa, her arms wrapping around him. 

Carmela wiped a tear from her eye and cleared her throat, "Is it time for cheesecake yet?"

"Yes!" Emmy grinned, and they gathered around the table again to enjoy dessert.

When it became late, Amos said his goodbyes, and Carmela walked him out. As they stood on the front steps with the moon glowing in the clear sky, she embraced him tightly.

"Thank you for finding me—for giving me a reason to talk to someone about Ben. Most importantly, thank you for making Emmy smile tonight. Rodrigo playing for her was quite the surprise."

"What?" Amos pulled back and looked her in the eyes. "No, thank you, Carmela. If it weren't for your journal, I'd probably still be in a shitty relationship."

"No." She shook her head. "I've got a feeling you would've figured things out. You're a smart man, Amos. Don't be so hard on yourself. One day you'll find someone who deserves you. I'm sure of it."

"Thank you."

"Take care of yourself."

"You too."

By the time he got on the road and began driving home, the emptiness residing in his chest for weeks had vanished and in its place was warmth—hope. Being a single man at twenty-eight years old no longer looked so bleak.

Life was full of possibilities, and he had spent five years on the wrong person, but now he would snatch every positive that came his way because he was in the mood to dissolve in the sky.

One guitar stroke at a time.