My part was the nitty-gritty, apparently. The sponge baths. The occasional change of linens when he wet the bed. “Look,” I told him the first time, LeVon looking on to supervise. “We’re both uncomfortable with this. But I love you, Dad, and you washed me when I was little, so now I’ll take care of you. And when you’re better, we can both get hypnotism to forget this.” I thought he might have smiled. Well. His mouth moved, either in horror or humor or reflex. It was hard to say.

When he looked at me, I sensed he was striving to say something. “It’s me, Dad. Sadie. Can you say my name?” He didn’t. If he grew restless, I’d hold his hand and stay positive. “You’re getting better every day. The brain is incredible. You just have to relearn things.”

It was like a bad dream. Dad, unable to talk; me in my old room, which had been redone about half an hour after I left for college; Mom and me trying not to bicker over dinner. At least Caro would pop in, alleviating the tension. My nieces would come over, Brianna a little freaked out by seeing Grampy this way, Sloane oblivious and happy.

New York seemed far, far away.

After three weeks of living at home, I told my mother I needed to get out of the house.

“Well, I can’t stay here alone with him, Sadie!” she said. “That’s your job.”

“LeVon isn’t here today, and Dad is still your husband!” I snapped. “He just needs company. Is that so hard? Can you just sit with him for half a damn hour so I can get some fresh air?”

“Fine. Go,” she said. “Be back before lunch, please.” She hated watching him eat, which I admit wasn’t the prettiest sight.

Shit. I so wished it had been her. In her case, a nursing home would’ve been more than enough.

I left the house. It was March now—eight weeks since Dad’s stroke, and mud season for New England, but the air had the promise of spring. The sky was pale blue, the breeze brisk, blowing the fug off me and bathing me in the smell of salt air.

I walked away from town, toward the tidal river. When I came to the wooden footbridge that spanned it, I took a seat the way I had when I was a kid, my legs dangling, the river gurgling past below me, the long reeds along the bank golden in the sunlight. My dad and I used to play Poohsticks, dropping twigs in on one side, then looking over the other to see whose came out from under the bridge first.

In the distance, the Sound was empty; all the boats were still in dry dock.