“How’s it going with the aide?” Dad asks suddenly. The happy and relaxed look on his face starts slipping away.

I want to tell him about it so bad. How frustrated I feel when she grabs my chair and pushes me over thresholds I can manage myself. How kids have already started treating me different—like I’m not the same Emmie they’ve known forever. Like we can’t talk about much of anything because Dawn’s always right there, hearing everything.

But Dad hasn’t looked relaxed for so long, and I remember how out of place and twitchy he was at that last meeting. Things seem to be settling down, a bit. Maybe I can last a while longer—at least until I know Dad’s class is going better. Besides, Operation See Dawn Run is already running her ragged—maybe she’ll up and quit on her own if we keep it up. So I fib.

“She’s not my favorite, but it’s no big deal,” I tell him. My line whirrrrs through the air as I make another cast.

Dad doesn’t look convinced. “We can still talk to the school,” he says. His line jerks, and he starts working it in. Then I get a bite, and we both have to hustle so the fish don’t tangle our lines.

When we’ve each landed a nice-size bass for the cooler and rebaited our hooks, Dad seems to have forgotten about Dawn, and I still can’t bring myself to ruin the best day—and week—we’ve had in a long, long time by reminding him. Especially since tomorrow will be here way too soon.

“You know what tomorrow is, right?”

My head snaps up, and I fumble my cast. The line spins off the reel way too fast, like it wants to avoid Dad’s words as much as I do.

I make myself reel it in slowly and try again. “I know.”

When Dad doesn’t say more, I make myself look over. He’s staring intently at the pond, watching a pair of green-winged teals poking around in the reeds on the far shore.

Tomorrow is Mom’s birthday. The first year she was gone, Dad and I were too hunkered down in survival mode to do much more than make it through the day. Last year, Nonny took over, insisting it was only proper that we do something. To show respect.

“Is Nonny making us go to the cemetery?” I finally ask.

Dad slowly reels in his line and sighs. “You got it.”

The next day, Dad leaves work early, collects me from school, and we meet Nonny and Pop-Pop at Holy Cross Cemetery.

Maybe it’s weird, but I actually like Holy Cross. I mean, if you have to spend eternity dirt-napping in some cemetery, this one isn’t so bad. It’s tucked away on a backroad, with big, shady trees over the tombstones and concrete angels and flower wreaths. I’ve seen some cemeteries stuck right beside the interstate, which Mom would have hated.

Nonny’s already pulling potted flowers and tools from her trunk and piling them up in Pop-Pop’s arms.