These albums were an extension of his parents’ love. The lyrics were baked into Ada’s photographs, and Alonzo’s books were sentimental prayers to them. This music was threaded through all Amir’s memories of his parents and this home. One day, Alonzo would be gone, and Amir wouldn’t be able to remember the exact pitch of his or Ada’s voices. But he would still have the music, and it would almost be like having them back. “They’re the soundtrack you and mama made together,” Amir said solemnly. “That’s my boy,” Alonzo whispered back.
