“You mean, he’s dead,” Anne says.

“Which,” I argue gently, “is what he wanted. It is, Anne. Don’t you think so?”

She doesn’t answer.

Softly, Margo says, “He would have shot himself if his heart hadn’t given out first.”

Anne considers that as she looks between us. “You don’t blame me then?”

“Blame you?” I echo. “You were his savior. We are infinitely grateful for that.”

“Infinitely,” Margo stresses.

“And now?” Anne asks.

I’m not sure what she’s getting at. “Now?”

“What happens?” She makes a triangular gesture.

She’s right in bringing us back to this. It is what we need to discuss.

“We’re sisters,” I say, then, looking awkwardly between them, add, “uh, half-sisters. I do have a different father.”

I’m wondering if the time is right for this, when Anne bursts out, “I shouldn’t have said what I did, Mal. I’m sorry. You’re right; we were upset. It doesn’t matter who your father is. We’re all Mom’s, and we were raised together. I know you felt Dad treated you differently, but he thought of you as his, I’m sure he did.”

Margo is watching me closely. “Do you know for sure?”

“Shy of a DNA test? Pretty much.” Mom’s birthmark notwithstanding, I want to know beyond a doubt. Paul offered. I’ll accept. It may be the only thing I’ll ask of him, other than not to hurt Joy.

“Who?” Margo asks.

But I draw the line there. “It doesn’t relate to who we are.”

She would have prodded—I know Margo, she would have—if my younger sister hadn’t been elsewhere. “Dad left me the house,” Anne blurts out, looking frightened, afraid we’ll be upset.

Letting the other go, Margo says, “As he should.”

“Agreed,” I second.

“But I don’t want to be alone.”

“You won’t be,” Margo assures her. “We’ll be back.”

“You will?”

“Annie,” I smile in disbelief, “of course, we will.”

“Even without Dad here?”

Margo snorts. “Especially without him here.”

I’m more nuanced. “If you’re asking whether you’re enough to bring us back, the answer is yes. Of course, you are, Annie.”

But she is eyeing Margo. “You’d come, too? Even with this place being more Dad than Mom? It always will be,” she warns and tears up again. “I used to think of the potting shed as being her. I’d go in there a lot. I’m not sure I ever will again.”

Anne kept the door oiled, then. Not Tom. It’s a nice turn.

But she isn’t done with Margo. “So you won’t have the potting shed either. Mom isn’t here anymore. What’s to bring you back?”

“You,” Margo says.