“Wouldn’t want to be tied down to a baby, but then when he said the word marriage, I freaked out. Like, marriage is forever—I mean, it wasn’t for Mom and Dad, but you should be thinking forever when you go into it, shouldn’t you? I have no idea what kind of husband he’d be. I have no idea what kind of father he’d be. I mean, he works in a prison.”

“So did Dad—well, almost,” Margo says, stretching it even with the qualification, though I’m not sure the remark registers with Anne, who remains centered on Bill.

“He has a criminal record, meaning he spent time on the inside. And his tattoos, all those tattoos?”

“I thought you liked them,” I say, startled again.

“I do, but tell me the truth, I mean, seriously, is he the kind of man Dad would want me to marry?” When neither of us is quick enough to speak, she says, “See? You agree. Okay, sure, Dad got used to seeing him around, but that’s a whole different thing from my being married to the guy. And having his baby? Dad would die.”

Squeezing her knees, I whisper, “Dad is not here.”

“Besides,” Margo adds in a very Margo, very Tom, very firm tone, “even if he was, it’s not Dad’s decision to make. It’s yours.”

From the look of the tears that have begun to trickle down her pale cheeks, this doesn’t comfort Anne. “That’s fine for you to say—for both of you. You’ve been making decisions for yourself all these years, but I haven’t.”

“You absolutely have,” I inject. “Look at the shop—”

“Dad’s been part of my life. And I wanted it that way. I liked knowing he was here. I liked knowing he depended on me to keep the house running, and when he got forgetful, I liked being able to help. I didn’t rush him to the doctor, because I wanted things to stay the way they were. I’m an enabler—that’s what I am, an enabler—and now he’s dead.”

“Annie.” I grasp her arms to be closer to her heart. “There is no correlation between what you did or didn’t do and his death. He told me that he didn’t want doctors or medication. But you, you made his last years happy. You didn’t cause his memory problems or his heart problems. You made his life better in spite of them. Think of him having breakfast at your shop. Going down there gave him purpose. He loved it.”

She seems hesitant, but the ghost of hope in her eyes says she wants to believe.

Margo joins in. “You blame yourself, but what about us? We weren’t here. You did it all. But what’s the point of our agonizing over it,” she pleads. “It’s done.”