Dad hooted, staring at his phone. “Tally had the baby.”
“Really?” Mom said, surprised.
“Already?” The hope in my voice was embarrassing. Maybe Charlie would be home soon.
His mouth fell open. “In the car. They didn’t make it to the hospital.”
Mom’s head gave a little shake. “My worst nightmare. Is everyone okay?”
“Mom and baby are doing great. It sounds like Charlie delivered her.” Dad chuckled. “Look.”
I walked over to see. Uncle Ash, Aunt Tally, and Charlie were huddled in the van—a screaming baby lying against Tally’s chest, all of them beaming. Charlie looked like she’d been crying—eyes red-rimmed—but exuberant. Seriously, she was glowing.
I smiled. “She has dark hair like Charlie.”
“She’ll be a beauty for sure,” Mom said.
“What’s a reply song?” Addie said behind us, dropping Charlie’s manure-stained clothes onto the counter.
Mom released an exhausted-sounding sigh. “Don’t put those there. Cash, can you wipe that off?” She hopped up and carried them to the laundry room down the hall. I gave the counter a quick swipe with a Clorox wipe and tossed it into the trash.
“Aunt Tally had her baby,” Dad said, holding out the phone for Addie to see.
“Oh, she’s so cute,” Addie cooed. “What’s her name?”
“Hmm. No name yet.”
“What’s a reply song?” she asked again.
Dad set his phone on the table and steepled his fingers against his chest, giving Addie his full attention. “It’s when one artist writes a song and another writes one that answers it using the same melody. Kind of like lyrical ping-pong.”
“So you’re saying people just…steal songs and answer back?” she asked.
I chuckled. “Not steal. It’s like…a conversation, but with music. Like Taylor Swift wrote ‘Enchanted’ after meeting Adam Young of Owl City. Then he wrote a song also called ‘Enchanted’ as a response. Why?” What had happened between the time she left the kitchen and the time she returned to make her ask that?
Her brows flicked up. “I think Charlie wrote a reply song to ‘Hard to Love You.’”
I jerked my head back. “What makes you think that?”
“Because she left a notebook on her bed that has your song on one side of the page and then another song on the opposite page that says, Reply song: ‘Hard toLeaveYou.’” She tapped her chin. “Oh, and she wrote your name and initials everywhere around it with heart doodles. Like, a whole army of pink hearts.”
A sharp jolt struck my chest, like a firework detonating under my ribs. What was happening right now?
Addie reached over and pinched my arm.
I jerked it away. “What’d you do that for?”
“Because I could tell you thought you were dreaming. You’re not.”
Dad looked at me, his head tilting sideways, shocked.
“You’re sure?” I asked Addie.
“No.” Her shoulders dropped. “I made all that up.” For a half second, my hopes crashed. But then she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. I know how to read. I’m eight, not six.” She poked me in the arm. “Told you, you’re going to marry her.”
My gaze flashed toward the stairs leading to Charlie’s room.
“First of all,” Dad said, voice full of rebuke. “You shouldn’t be snooping through Charlie’s things?—”
