She plucked the steel string. The acoustic guitar was perfectly in tune, but she knew someone would disagree.
It didn’t matter she’d been running this place since his passing or that she turned the floundering music store into a profitable business.
It also didn’t matter she’d become a sought-after instructor with a client roster three pages long. Because every time she tuned up before a lesson, he’d chime in with an opinion from the great beyond. Too sharp, too flat, too something.
She was a virtuoso on a half-dozen instruments.
It’d be nice if someone let her old man know.
The Weekday One Hundred 