The Mother's War

en good enough to be convincing. Caleb would have told me the brand of coffee, what he was doing, and how h

d a thousand miles away in Tennessee. Every time my phone was silent, the knot in my gut twisted tighter. I calle

ter. Recording vocals. Ca

couldn't think. The burn on his hand, the way he hid it, the hollow re

tion, his arm slung around me, both of us grinning. Caleb on stage at a local fair, his eyes closed in concentration as he pla

working my fingers to the bone to make sure he was safe, to give him a life his father would be prou

cy, and used the last of my savings to buy a Greyhound bus ticket to Nashville. The twenty-hour ride was a speci

the big industry nearby. In this case, the industry was Anthony Lester's legendary recording st

ar pulled up to the security booth, and a young woman in a s

oarse. "I'm looking for my son,

out, gave me a look that made me feel like s

asked, her tone drippi

gwriter. Anthony Lest

t, her eyes cold and assessing. "

ce rising with panic. "He's been here for

perty. If you don't leave right now, I will have sec

body trembling. I spent the rest of the day in a cheap motel room, watchin

awful. His face was pale and gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out. The spark in his

. "I heard you came down here. You need to go home. I'm fine. I'm just... I'm really busy

, and the silence in the motel room was deafening. He wasn't just lying anymore. He was b