The third drawer held shorts and sweatshirts, and was rewarded with only the briefest of inspections. The fourth contained everything that didn’t, for one reason or another, fit into the categories represented by the other drawers. She gave the contents a cursory look, then abandoned her investigation of the bureau, which seemed to settle with relief back into its state of weary resignation.

Her possibilities nearly exhausted, she opened the door of the closet. She was unsurprised to find it filled with shirts, all hung facing the same direction and with the buttons tidily done up, as well as a row of pants, all of them khaki in color and neatly pressed. On the floor several pairs of shoes sat obediently, like well-trained dogs.

Above the hanging rod was a shelf. On this there were sweaters, and beside these was a box made of cardboard, about a foot long and half as much tall. Caddie grabbed it and lifted it down, carrying it without hope to the bed, where she sat. She lifted the lid, expecting to find inside further proof of her father’s dullness. Instead, she found it filled with papers and photographs.

The first item she withdrew was a diploma, folded into thirds, from the University of Washington, awarding Ben Ransome a bachelor of science degree in marine biology. It was dated June 17, 1985, and there was a round brown ring, as if from the bottom of a coffee cup, on one corner of it. Caddie laid it aside and kept digging. There were other papers—certificates of commendation from various marine-oriented groups, the title to the Volvo, a stack of California Department of Fish & Game abalone catch report cards dating back half a dozen years.

She was beginning to think that she’d hit another dead end when she came across the first envelope. It was red, faded to a dusty pink, and on the front was scrawled, in a child’s first attempt at writing, DAD. She lifted the flap and drew out a card. It was a Valentine, handmade and embarrassing, for she recognized the work as her own. On the outside was a drawing of what she guessed was a whale swimming in a sea of blue squiggles. A fountain of hearts spouted from its blowhole, and it smiled joyfully. Inside she had written a message: HAPY VALUNTINE DAY DADDY. I LOVE U. CADDIE.

How old had she been? She tried to remember and couldn’t. Probably four or five. Had she made the card in school, or had her mother helped her? She stared at the card, but nothing came to her. It was as if the Valentine had been made by some other child who had signed her name to it.