He lifted the jar. "So other people have jars with mom in them too?"

I smiled. "Yes. Everyone who knew her has a reason why they loved her. And when you put them all together, it makes all the little reasons form into a giant."

He frowned a bit. "I don't have a jar."

"Yes you do." I poked his chest. "It's right there."

Andy stared down to his hands. "Can I open your jar?"

"Anytime you want."

And that time was right at that moment. He spilled scraps of paper across my desk and rummaged his hands through each one flipping them over and searching for reasons.

"It's all numbers," he wondered aloud. "No words, just numbers, Pop."

"It was how I said I love you. Someday you'll have a girlfriend and do silly things to make them happy, too."

"But why?"

"Because girls like to feel special."

"Numbers made mom feel special?"

"I think it made her feel like I was always listening to her."

He admired the litter of paper on my desk one last time before he asked, "Can I write numbers too?"

"You can love your mom any way you wish. You can get a box and fill it up with memories, or buy a journal and write down what you'd like to tell her. Whatever it is, I know if anyone can fill it up with reasons to love her it would be you."

His face brightened but then squinted. "How will she know?"

"I'll take them to her," I replied.

"I wanna go! I wanna go too!"

"Okay," I agreed, "but you'll have to use your imagination. Seeing mom is a special thing and you need special eyes."

Andy smiled up at me. "And two heartbeats," he added.

I touched my boy's head. "And of course . . . two heartbeats."

A SCOUTS HONOR.

I braced for two things as I found room number 708 of Atlanta Memorial: the quiet, and the loud.

As I looked down to Andy I found enough bravery to twist the handle and step into a room I hadn't seen in nearly two months. Scout stared up at the television until I said hello.

"Dr. Trovatto," he said surprised, "Hey."

I gripped Andy's hand for strength. "How are you, Scout?" The question was asked innocently enough but we both knew what stood between us. Guilt plagued his face as if he wasn't sure how to answer. If he was great-I was doomed. If he was terrible-still doomed, but twice as much, and without good reason.

"I'm glad you're here," he said finally. His eyes flicked to Andy. "Hey little man."

Andy was one-hundred percent Everly's son. He puffed up his chest and chided, "Who you callin' little? You look like a vampire. White as a ghost."

Scout laughed and then winced, hand over chest. "You'd think by now," he panted, "I would know better."

And like some tender miracle, a joke bubbled up inside of me. "You break it you buy it."

He looked at me in surprise. "I'd totally laugh but I most definitely don't want to break it, Dr. Trovatto. Not this one, Sir." And I had to seize every muscle in my body to prevent the anguish I buried from rushing forth. Andy pulled away from my grasp and I realized I had been crushing his small hand.

"You like Spider-Man?" Scout asked him. "The guy who owns Spider-Man sent me free comics because some nurse posted my story on Facebook and it went viral. I just got the newest issue. Wanna see it?"

Andy shook his head. "I just wanna give you reasons." He held up his box full of Everly mementos.

"Reasons to what?" Scout asked glancing between us.