It felt like I got home in the dead of night, but it was only 5:15PM. I'd forgotten to turn on the light over my back door. "Stupid time change," I muttered, using the flashlight app on my cellphone to well enough to put my key in the lock.

My tiny little house still smelled like stale coffee from the morning, which felt like ages ago. Thank God it was Friday.

I heard a thump and then the sound of little feet on the wood of the stairs. A little ball of fuzz came staggering over the the door, still sleep-drunk and swaying a little.

"Hey there little girl," I murmured to my tiny new kitten as I crouched down to pet her. I'd gotten her the day before Gid died, but already enough time had past that she was getting long legged. "How's my tiny little terror?"

Ginger purred and nipped at my fingers as I picked her up and went into my tiny, sparsely furnished living room. The box was still there in the middle of the floor because I didn't know where else to put it. The basement was too damp and I was afraid it would hurt the tapes. And I didn't want to shove it into a closet because it seemed disrespectful to Gideon.

I set down my cat and poked the box with my toe, thinking. I'd managed to survive my first full day at work without Gid, and tomorrow would be just like this one. I hated that someday I might actually get used to this feeling.

I poked the box again. Immediately Ginger latched on to it, kicking her back feet in a wild attempt to murder my foot. "Ow!" I yelped. "Stop it, you little assassin!" I scooped her up and crossed back into galley kitchen and plopped her in front of her food bowl. "Shit, you're almost out of this," I sighed, scraping the last bits of food out of the bag I'd brought home with her from the shelter.

Ginger crunched her kibble as I stroked her back and scratched between her eyes, setting off a thunderstorm of purring. Then I poured a glass of water and went over to sit on the only chair in my living room. I propped my foot up on the box.

Today would be a good day to hear Gid's voice. I could do it right now. I could pop a tape into the ancient tape recorder I still had from my Dad, and I could let Gid's voice fill the room and pretend he was right here with me.

But I couldn't do it. The wound was still too fresh. I was still trying to get used to the feeling of him being gone. Hearing him again would only make that harder.

"I should give it to the Kings, shouldn't I?" I asked Ginger. She trotted over, happy now that her belly was full and took a flying leap into my lap. "It's his legacy, right?" I ran my hand down her fuzzy back and set off another round of vibrating, and I smiled, and then...

Then I cried.

"He was supposed to come meet you," I sniffed, wiping my hand down my cheek. "He was going to come... Jesus, it'd be today he was gonna come." Ginger purred like a boat motor and I leaned over and buried my face in her tummy. "Gid," I sighed into Ginger's fuzzy fur. "The hell were you even doing out there, anyway?"

He was always doing stuff like that. Driving off to some unknown purpose. It was hard to see through the lens of how kind he was, but he had a stubborn, mean streak to him. A fierce kind of world-view that didn't allow for much room for others. Izzy, with her wispy, wistful ways was probably the perfect woman for a guy like him. The kind to be wholly absorbed into her man.

All the Kings were like that, to a point. It was one of Claire's biggest complaints about her brothers. That they absorbed all the light in the room, demanding the spotlight for themselves. Gideon was just a nicer, less wildly famous version of that.

I nudged the box with my toe. Gid was in there. His words, his voice. "I should go over there, hand it to Foster, right Gingy-Girl?" I asked my kitten. "Since Gid is his brother?"

She sat up and bit my knuckle.

I laughed through my tears. "Is that a no or something?" I wondered, dangling my fingers over her face. The vet said not to use hands as toys, but Ginger wasn't interested in anything else but my limbs. And she was so cute I let her get away with it. "You think I should keep the box here, right?" I asked her as she rolled and batted and fell over herself. "Just in case I get the courage to listen?"

Ginger made an impressive leap, Velcro-ing herself to my bicep. I yelped again and peeled her away, before cuddling her to my chest. She struggled in vain to bite at my earlobe. "Stop, just be sweet for one second. I need this," I said, hugging her tight.

As I squeezed her struggling body, my mind leaped back to the day of the funeral. I wondered if I had felt like this in Jonah's arms as he hugged me tight. I'd wanted to scratch and bite him too, but it had also been strangely comforting, comforting enough that I'd done it again upon arriving at the wake.

He was Gid's favorite for some reason. Maybe that was the connection I had felt. He was a musician, just like his uncle, and stubborn like him too.

"Ow, okay!" I sighed, setting Ginger down and rubbing my scratched up hand. "Maybe I don't give the box away, huh?" My kitten blinked and made a mad dash for her food bowl. I nodded, "Yeah, you like that idea. But maybe I invite Jonah over and let him listen to it? Since he was Gid's favorite?"

Ginger blinked at me, all solemn, cat-like dignity. Then she attacked her own tail.

I looked back at the box, hulking silently there in the center of my living room. Filled with Gid's soul. He'd shared it with me and not his nephew for a reason. "You're right," I said to my cat. "That's a terrible idea.