On her way home from the funeral, a melody popped into her head. She sang it aloud in the car. She hadn’t been able to turn on the radio since Billy died. It kept her company instead of the classic rock that she and Billy enjoyed and played.

The drive was usually two hours. Her brother had washed the car to busy himself and make her Toyota presentable for the procession. The melody gave way to words as a light rain fell on the windshield. Her brother would have protested this rain. The wipers, set on low, gave her a rhythm for her song. She longed to hear Billy’s drums again, but the wipers would suffice.

After an hour passed, she found that she had composed a hymn for Billy and for herself. She smiled and she gazed at the stop sign ahead.

“There’s your song, Billy. I hope you like it.”

She compressed the brakes and came to a complete stop. Fortunately, the intersection was deserted. As she looked over her left shoulder, she saw a rainbow. She turned the car off.

Billy had answered “Yes.”