“Charlie looks like my daddy. Tall, strong jawline, and the kind of eyes that seem to see right through you.”

A zing zipped through Lane. She knew exactly what Ms. Byrdie was referring to because she’d seen it firsthand yesterday at the bridge. “Come on, Noah, let’s get ready.”

A pout found its way to Noah’s little lips. “But I want to mash the rest of the nannas.”

“You don’t want to poke the Bear, do you?”

Noah’s eyes grew wide as he swung his head back and forth emphatically, even as a grin tugged at his chubby cheeks. “No way.”

“Good. Me neither.” And that was the truth, though it wasn’t for the same reasons as her son. After another restless night, the last thing Lane wanted to do was put on a plastic smile in front of the town, but if they were late she’d get a lecture about timeliness. Who was she kidding? There would probably be a lecture no matter what. Lane hung up her apron before she bent down and planted a kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Let’s go get dressed.”

Twenty minutes later, Lane gave up on trying to do anything with her mess of hair and Noah was MIA. Carefully dodging the LEGO land mines, she made her way down the hall.

“Noah, we’re going to be la—” Lane stopped at the sight of Noah huddled on the ground, shoulders shaking, his face buried in his hands. Sweeping into the room, Lane dropped to her knees and pulled her little boy into her lap. “Noah, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I lost my tags.” He sniffled. “You told me to be careful and I lost my tags.”

“Oh, honey.” Lane pushed the hair from his forehead. “No, you didn’t. They’re on the dresser. See?”

Noah’s gaze followed hers to the dresser. He slid out of Lane’s hold and scooped up the military dog tags she’d found under his bed and placed on the dresser the night before. Noah admired the pieces of metal like they were gold. He looked up, his eyes still wet. “I’m sorry, Momma.”

“Your daddy”—Lane gently took the tags and put them over his head—“he would be so proud of how big and responsible you’re getting.” She wiped the tears from the little boy’s eyes. Noah was the only piece of Mathias she had left.

A knock on the front door pulled Lane from the bittersweet nostalgia. She wrinkled her nose. Ms. Byrdie didn’t normally come to their upstairs apartment, but when she did she didn’t need to knock. Who was it? Her parents? Ensuring Lane and Noah made it to the dedication on time—or at all? She groaned.