It had been about nineteen months since James’ death, and the band had miraculously managed to keep it a secret by giving the excuse that, due to his lupus, James was always too tired to perform at concerts. They had done their best to move on, although Bryan just couldn’t bring himself to do so. James had left an estate in Hollywood to him and he often spent his time there now, rarely coming back home.
The triplets had grown to be walking chatterboxes, learning new words left and right by hearing them from the adults. Thomas had learned how to cook a few simple things, and was currently making pancakes for his family.
Solomon’s schizophrenia had worsened until he got help from the doctor, and, to Isabell’s joy and delight, was on the slow path of recovery. He spent a lot of his time with Adrienne, who had grown quite tall for a toddler her age. He was reading to her as she sat in his lap.
