Eleanor looked up. Her first thought: He’s thinner. His hands are still beautiful. Her second: Don’t.

“Why would you keep it?”

“I’m not asking you to be fixed.” Leo tapped the tape. “I’m asking if you want to hear what you sounded like before you decided you were broken.”

They reconnect when Iris, researching a folk-music exhibit, brings a worn acetate of Eleanor’s lost second master tapes to her father for restoration. Leo recognizes the name. Eleanor recognizes the name on the work order.

“You’re still using that Martin D-28,” he said. Not a question.