Back at the beginning of the summer, before the first set of fish bones appeared, before Frank picked up his binoculars and met her on the beach, before Maya walked into their shop and stirred Trudy to life, Violet had had a dream. Somehow she’d had the presence of mind to know she was dreaming, but it was so pleasant she tried to keep herself from waking up.

In that hazy place between asleep and awake, she’d seen two pairs of hands, one young and one old, rummaging through bits of wood and shells and dried things. She saw a key sitting in the middle of a strong, small hand. There were coffee mugs with steam rising from the tops and plates of cookies. She saw birds flying high over the river, then a hand roughened by age taking hers and holding tight.

Separately the collage of images hadn’t meant much, but seen together, one after another like an old viewfinder camera, they seemed to stitch together a life she didn’t understand and never thought she could be a part of. And now, finally, she was beginning to understand.

Footsteps in the grass behind her were followed by a warm hand on her elbow, then Frank’s sturdy presence by her side. After tipping the bag of seed into the last empty feeder, he led her to the glider swing down by the edge of the water. They settled onto the swing, stretching their legs out in front of them. Frank laid his cane down in the grass, then reached for Violet’s hand. It was such a natural movement, his rough hand taking hers, as if it had happened every day for the last forty years. But they were just starting.

With his free hand he traced the edges of the bracelet around her wrist. Where his skin touched hers, she felt the tiny flutter of the golden bird wings. “I sure am glad to see this on your arm again.”

“I still can’t believe it survived that awful night.”

“I can’t believe you and Trudy survived that awful night. And that you’re here, next to me, after all these years.” He chuckled. “It feels like a dream I hadn’t even had the heart to hope for.”

Violet nodded, her mind still reeling with all that had changed over the course of the summer. “I got used to my life with Trudy. Then with my students and later, the birds and the shop. It was enough, it had to be, because I never thought there could be more.”

“And now?”

“Well, it’s different now, isn’t it? There’s so much possibility. At this age it almost feels like too much of a luxury.”

“Not too much. I think it’s just enough. Though I would like to suggest one more thing to you.”

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a square of paper and handed it to her.

She unfolded it and smoothed the creases. It was a flyer and splashed across the top were birds in a rainbow of colors—frigate birds and wood storks, pink flamingos and roseate spoonbills, white pelicans and purple gallinules—along with the words Birding Tours to the Florida Keys.