I’m hiding inside this house tonight with a broken heart. I’ve never really known what this is or means. But it’s not a broken feeling; it’s an empty feeling. I don’t know why they call it broken—it’s emptiness, not brokenness that hurts so very much. First there is this falling, falling, falling feeling. I never knew, until now, that this is how lonely feels. I thought I knew, but I didn’t.

A knock resonated through the room. I closed the journal and opened the door to a man I knew but couldn’t find the name inside the names darting through my head. He had a wide grin. “Hey, girl. You cannot and will not stay inside on this perfect night while we party twenty yards away. Get out here.”

“Uncle Cotton,” I said in a voice that sounded a lot like the child who once would have called his name. I hugged him and stepped back to look at him. “What a wonderful surprise. It’s so great to see you. What are you doing here?”

“I’m speaking at that book festival this weekend and Ms. Birdie invited me over tonight. I’m staying in Mobile.”

Uncle Cotton somehow had all the most handsome parts of my father, yet it was almost as if those elements were exaggerated—as if he were Dad, yet drawn more distinctly or brighter. He was two years older than Dad, mid-seventies. His white hair was thinning but still carried the hint of curls that once surrounded his face in the photos I’d seen of their younger days. He was taller than Dad by a few inches. It hurt me to think this, but Dad was almost a watered-down version of his older brother.

“You too, Ms. Ellie, it’s damn good to see you, too. It’s been way too long. I’m sorry I missed your mother’s funeral. I was in Europe … .”

“I know.” I stepped back to let him in the room. “Come on in,” I said.

He stepped into the cottage. “This place is great. I’ve stayed here before. Isn’t it the best?”

I nodded. “Just right. Which is why I’ve decided I’m staying here and not going out there.”

“Oh, you’re going to the party all right.”

“I am?” I glanced down at my shorts and T-shirt.

“Let me explain something to you,” he said with this smile of such warmth, I couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Explain away.”

“We don’t know, never have, when another jubilee will come. You can’t hide in this house and say, ‘Next time, oh, next time I’ll celebrate the jubilee.’ No way. You have to say, ‘This time. Yes, this time, because I don’t know when there will be a next time.’”

I laughed. “You sound like you are giving an inspirational speech at a high school graduation.”