Later that night, I put on a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and a leather jacket. I was going to do exactly what Ray had advised me to do: I was going to go searching for my soul.

I went to see my favorite parts of the city—well, not my favorite parts, my favorite part.

I walked down Frenchmen Street and filled my lungs with New Orleans air. I traveled down the alleyway behind the bars and allowed myself to remember as the music from inside filled my ears.

There was such a peacefulness about those bars, that alleyway.

It used to be home to me, my safe haven.

I closed the dumpster and climbed on top, like we used to do. The sky was cloudy, and even though I couldn’t see a single star, I began to count them, because I knew they were there, just like I knew somewhere out there, a boy named Elliott still existed.

I thought about him often…only every single day for the past six years.

I always felt silly letting Elliott still exist in my memories. It had been ages since I’d last seen him, since he’d last written me, but still, I kept the key he’d given me around my neck. So you know you always have a home to come back to.

I didn’t have a clue why I kept it after all these years. For protection? For memories? For pain? For hope? I didn’t know, but during some lonely, dark nights, it was that key that kept me going. It was the reminder of a time when things were good.

It was a reminder that maybe someday things could be good again.

So, whenever he did run across my mind, I’d wish for our paths to cross again. I’d selfishly ask the universe to do whatever it took to bring Elliott back into my life. I wanted to see him by any means, just for the knowledge that he was doing better than I was.

Where had he and his family ended up? I knew I was no one he needed in his life. I was so far from the girl he once knew, but still…I wondered about those eyes and who they stared at each night.

I prayed for my personal gain. I wished and hoped for his hazel eyes to somehow, someway, lock with mine. I just needed to see the man he’d become, even if only for a moment’s time. I wondered about his music and whose ears heard his sounds. I wondered if he was happy.

I hoped and prayed he was.

* * *

After a little too much time living in my memories, I stood up from the dumpster and headed to Frenchmen Street. There were dozens of people out that night, the same way the streets had been packed when I was a teenager. People were shouting, dancing, and loving on the energy.

When I heard a saxophone, chills raced down my spine. I turned on my heels and started in the direction the sound was coming from. My mind was racing as I took off in a bit of a jog toward the sound that seemed so familiar to me. The sounds were leading me to the corner.

To our corner.

To the place where I’d sung my soul and Elliott had played his heartstrings.

The sound was splendid, surreal, and I was out of breath when I reached the corner. Still, he wasn’t there.

An older man stood on the corner playing music, and he played as if his life depended on it. A crowd had formed around him, cheering him on.

I began to choke up. While I listened to his notes cry into the air, I tried to compose myself.

Stop it, Jasmine, I warned myself. You’re being ridiculous.

But I couldn’t help it. His music was beautiful. I just wished it were coming from another person. I hated myself in that moment for the way I remembered.

Why would I miss a boy who never wrote me back?

Why did I care after all this time?

I sat down on the curb as the older gentleman played the saxophone. He played it so well. He went to war on the instrument, making love to every note. He performed like the music was his source of oxygen. He played as if it were the last time he’d ever play again. He left his soul on the battleground of music, and he owned his story.

As I watched him surrender himself to his songs, I surrendered myself to my feelings. I cried that night, first a few tears, and then I fell into heavy sobs. I wasn’t able to stop myself. Everything that had happened to me over the past six years, over the past week, was flooding out of my system. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he played. I couldn’t stop the pain from shaking me.

When he finished, everyone walked off to find their next adventure, yet I stayed put, still crying.

He placed his saxophone in his case, he walked over to me, and bent down slowly, joining me on the curb. I turned my head away from him, embarrassed by my emotions.

He didn’t judge me, though. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it my way. Taking it, I wiped my eyes dry. “I’m sorry,” I told him, mortified.

He gave me the softest smile, and his gentle brown eyes displayed his soul. “Baby girl, you’re too young to be feeling so much.” I laughed and kept wiping my eyes, still trying to catch my breath. As I tried to speak, he shook his head. “Just give it a minute. Feel what you need to feel. You can’t rush feelings. You just gotta let yourself ride the wave of them.”

I didn’t know why, but that comment made me break into more sobs, and he kept sitting by my side. He was a stranger who allowed me to be strange that night.

Once I pulled myself together, I blew my nose in the handkerchief and held it out toward him.

He snickered. “Keep it.”

“Thank you.”

“What kind of music do you perform?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m a musician?”

He gave me a knowing smile. “It’s New Orleans—everyone’s a musician,” he joked. “Plus, I noticed the charms on your bracelet.”

Ah, makes sense. “I’ve spent the past several years singing pop music, but soul is what keeps me up at night.”

He nodded. “That makes sense. I saw how you heard me. I saw how you witnessed the pain of the music as I played, and I felt your sorrow. You lost?”

I grimaced. “Trying to find my way back.”

“You know what my wife, God rest her soul, used to always say to me when I was lost?” He began to stand from the sidewalk and held his hand out to help me up. “‘Find the music when life makes no sense.’ You did the right thing, ya know, feeling tonight.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. “For your music.”

“Welcome. I got a question for you, though.”

“Yes?”

“What’s your truth?”

“My truth?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

He shifted around and turned to face me more. “What drives you? What motivates you? What breaks you and heals you all at once? What keeps you going each day? What’s your truth? What are the saddest parts of your soul? What causes your heart to shatter?”

I laughed lightly. “I don’t know how to answer that question.”

He nodded. “Most people don’t. It’s worth thinking about, though, don’t you think?”

I just grinned.

He smiled right back.

“People around here call me Teddy James, but my friends and family call me TJ. You can call me anything you want.” He winked at me. “I play here every evening, if you want to stop by. I don’t promise you perfection, but you’ll get heart.”

“That’s all I need, really. Thanks, TJ. I’m Jasmine, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but your music…it just reminds me of…” My words faded away, and I scrunched up my nose. “Did you ever know of a boy named Elliott Adams?”

TJ’s eyes widened, and a small smile found his face. “Jasmine,” he sang. He took my hand into his, and his smile stretched wide. “Did this Elliott boy ever call you Jazz?”

My stomach knotted up. “Yes.”

He lowered his brows and leaned in closer. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask anything.”

“What does that key around your neck stand for?”

I looked down at it. I hadn’t even noticed that at some point I’d wrapped my fingers around it while talking to TJ. I wondered how often I did that unconsciously.

“I don’t know, exactly. Hope, maybe?” I grimaced, glancing down at the piece of metal.

“Where did you get it?”

My eyes glassed over. “You know him.”

TJ reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy set of keys. “It was a family tradition of mine. It started generations back, the key swapping. Whenever someone was going through a hard time, or a major life change, you gave them a spare key as a reminder that they’d never be alone.” He started combing through his keys. “This one was from my mother the day my father passed away. This one was from my wedding day. My grandmother gave it to me as a blessing for a warm home and warm love. This one was from my father when I went to fight in the war. Each key holds special meaning. Each key also carries a form of hope, hope on the good days and on the bad, through the sun and through the storms.”

“I love that so much.”

“This one”—he unhooked a key from his set and placed it in my hand—“was given to me a long time ago by a thirteen-year-old boy named Elliott Adams when I lost my wife to cancer. We’d been neighbors all his life, and I looked at him and his sister as my own niece and nephew. I was that close to their family, and when he gave me this key, it saved me. He handed it to me as I sat in my living room crying, and he said, ‘Don’t worry, Uncle TJ, I know she’s gone and you feel lonely, but you’re not gonna be alone because you got us. You always got us.’”

Tears filled my eyes as he spoke of Elliott. My heart began beating faster and faster. “I went to his old house and he wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, no. After the incident, he and his mother moved across town.”

“What incident?”

TJ looked down at his hands and his bottom lip twitched a little. “You went to school with him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember a bully Elliott had named Todd Clause?”

My stomach knotted up. “Yes.”

“I’ll never forget that name. I’ll never forget how he stole so much from that poor family.” TJ teared up, and he tried to keep himself together. “After you left, the bullying got worse.” He told me everything. He told me how they attacked Elliott and used him as bait, how they forced him into the dumpster, how he had to listen to them abuse his sister. He told me how once he was free, it was too late, how he blamed himself each day, how the corner we stood on housed the ghosts that haunted Elliott every day.

The more he explained what had happened to Katie, the closer I grew to wanting to vomit.

“Oh my God…” Tears formed in my eyes as TJ told me how Elliott’s sister had literally died in his arms. I couldn’t imagine what something like that could do to a person’s psyche. I couldn’t envision the daily battles going on inside of Elliott’s heart and soul. I was sure he blamed himself for what had happened to his sister, but it wasn’t his fault. None of it was ever his fault.

“It was my fault,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

TJ raised his eyebrow. “What was your fault?”

“All of this, everything that happened. The only reason those guys were bullying Elliott so hard was because he stood up to them for me. If it wasn’t for me—”

“No,” TJ disagreed swiftly, cutting me off. “Those boys were bullying Elliott before you even came into the picture. Don’t you ever blame yourself for what those monsters did.”

The ache in my chest wouldn’t go away. “I’m sure he blames himself, though.”

“Yes,” TJ agreed. “He does.”

“I kept emailing him,” I told him, my body shaking with nerves. “He never wrote me back.”

“He became a recluse. He kept to himself, not opening up to anyone anymore. He still shows up for things sometimes, but when he’s there, he’s not there. It’s almost as if his mind is emptied. He’s a ghost, as if he died right there with his sister all those years ago.”

“TJ?”

“Yes?”

“Where is he?”

A weighted sigh fell from his lips. “Jasmine, it’s important for you to know, he’s not the same person he was when you knew him. He’s…different, colder, much more of a loner, and he doesn’t have much space to let people in. It’s hard to explain. If you do see him, don’t be surprised if it doesn’t go the way you think it should, because it won’t.”

I understood what he was saying. I understood the warning he was giving me, but still…

I needed to see those hazel eyes.

“TJ?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath. “Where is he?”