My mother’s arrangements were more refined. But Dad appreciates Joy’s. He moves from one to the next in patent admiration. Nothing on his face suggests worry, as it would if he had left a gun in the one vase I might have skimmed too quickly, or, for that matter, anywhere else in this room. His good mood may be that he feels safe here.

It may also be having people around this table, and, for a split second, I wish Margo were here to feel the nostalgia I do. If she could open her mind to the memories in this room, she might soften. She might agree with me that family is worth saving. She might commit to finding a path forward with Anne.

She might even get an understanding of what Dad’s life is like—might even feel a drop of compassion for the man. His world has shrunk, his family is dispersed. I’m not sure whether Anne actually eats dinner with him each night, or whether she just sees that he’s fed before she leaves. Whatever, I’m guessing that five for dinner is more than usual.

Of course, that could have the opposite effect, which is why it’s probably better that Margo is at her pre-theater dinner in Manhattan. Typically, Alzheimer’s patients are stressed by new or challenging things. Seeing Margo might freak him out.

That said, he greets Bill with a handshake and calls him by name, suggesting he’s been here before. And I’m glad. Bill is a surprise. He seems to calm Anne. For that alone, I like him. Moreover, the guy here today is a huge improvement over the one I remember when we were growing up. I won’t say he’s charming, since I can’t call a discussion of inmates at a medium security prison in Cranston charming. He supervises the carpentry shop there, and while I ask a question or two, they go nowhere fun. And there’s still the matter of the tattoos, at which Joy continues to slide surreptitious glances. He does, though, tell my father about the legal battle an inmate is waging against a conviction that was based on the testimony of a single eyewitness.

“Tricky thing, eyewitness testimony,” Dad says. He is studying his lobster, not sure where to begin, then jiggling one of the feelers in uncertainty. But he does remember the law. “If the initial identity is made from a police sketch, a witness is more apt to confirm the accused in person, whether he believes it or not. He may not want to be wrong. He may be swayed by a prosecutor who promises lenience or even immunity on a charge of, say, aiding-and-abetting. Let’s face it, eyewitnesses aren’t always good people, especially if they’re hanging around places where crimes take place.”