But only one person was going to save me.

Me.

We all make our choices.

And then we live with them.

All of us.

Dad walks through the crowd with me and I greet familiar friends who move in and out of our space.

“Ellie.” I turn to see Belinda’s smiling face; she holds a glass of wine. “You look so fabulous.” She steps back and shakes her head. “Seriously, I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. Like Diane Lane in that Tuscany movie I think.”

“Thanks,” I say, laughing. “But I think you just haven’t seen me in a while.”

“No, I’d know.” She smiles shyly and lowers her voice. “I am so sorry that I was rude when you and Rusty … well, I’m sorry. It’s really good to see you.”

I hug Belinda. “It’s okay. Go enjoy the evening.”

Dad stands behind me and I hear him take in a breath. We’ve reached 1968 and Mother’s timeline. “Ellie,” he says. “Look at that.”

I spin around and there are two Plexiglas panels six feet tall and attached with iron hinges so the panels are swung at a ninety-degree angle, almost facing one another. On one panel is the newspaper article with Mother at the luncheon counter, glancing over her shoulder staring as if she is daring the camera to take her on. On the opposite panel is a photo of me on the day Hutch and I had gone to the café. I am staring over my shoulder at the camera; my smile is not daring or belligerent, but content. Above each photo are the dates and an explanation of how Mother’s actions changed life for the next generation—her daughter’s generation.

“Oh,” I say. “Oh my gosh.” I take Dad’s hand and he is silent as he reads the information board about Mother and her charity work, and then about a life he knew nothing about. People move past us and around us as a river would a rock or boulder, silently and swiftly, not bothering father and daughter holding hands. Finally Dad turns to me. “You told me, but …”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He looks at me, almost as though he would look through me if he could. “She was a treasure. I know maybe not for you or to you all the time, but she was amazing. I love her greatly.”

“I know, Dad. I know.”

We stand for long moments staring at her photos until I hear his voice—Hutch’s voice—across the room.

Of course I’ve imagined a hundred scenarios—how to approach him, what to say, how to say it. But now my breath is gathered at the bottom of my throat and I’ve forgotten every well-designed sentence. He catches my eye and waves over the white bob of a woman’s head. I wave back when Sadie comes up next to me.