At five thirty, the bell rang. My father was on the doorstep, clutching a bouquet of orange lilies and a big bag from Joe’s Sicilian Bakery in Bayside. I’d invited him on impulse. His words about regrets had been circling in my head. I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I wasn’t sure I ever could. But I was open to finding out how much he’d really changed. More than that, I took Caro’s last words seriously—she wanted both of us to be deeply involved in raising Teddy, and that meant I couldn’t shut him out of my life.

He seemed suitably uncomfortable.

“You look like you’re trying to impress,” I told him at the door.

“Caro gave me this blazer,” he answered. “Does it look ridiculous?”

“I meant the bag from the bakery. The jacket’s fine. Theo probably has the same one. Maybe he’ll wear it tonight.”

It was strange being in the same room as my father. For years, he’d loomed large in my imagination. In person, he had a shy curiosity and awkwardness, like a penguin who’d been let out of the zoo on a day pass. Jude came in, and he relaxed a little. Then he pulled me aside and handed me a paper bag, first pulling out a small, shiny box. “This is yours,” he said.

Inside was my mother’s gold locket, all delicate Celtic scrollwork dangling from a gleaming chain. I cracked it open. Inside was a photograph of my family, taken when I was eight.

I had a lump in my throat the size of the Empire State Building.

“There are some other things in there,” he added. “But I know you loved that locket. I’ve been meaning to give it to you. Caro refused to do it—she said I had to give it to you myself. I asked Jude to do it at the funeral. I’m sorry I held on to it for so long.”

I nodded. “I appreciate it.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t get all snuffly.”

“I was admiring the brown paper bag. So classy.”

“You always had such a mouth on you,” he said. It wasn’t entirely without admiration.

“Pot, meet kettle,” I told him.

“I found something else too,” he said. “It came up while the cops were investigating. I talked to someone at that Egyptian company.”

“Osiris’s Vault? They’re not Egyptian; they’re in the Bronx.”

“Whatever.” He handed me an envelope. “For you to read whenever you’re ready.”

I went out for a walk, curious but apprehensive. When I’d braced myself, I opened it up. The first page said:

Deirdre,