At three I found myself standing on the threshold between my daughters’ rooms. The in-in-and-out of Vee’s breathing, so familiar, so like her mother’s. Always that suggestion that it might stop on the in-breath. And Licia’s breathing, no longer the same, a gentle in-and-out now, peaceful and assured. For that at least I was grateful, no matter what else she had experienced in the past year. Since coming home Licia had not used her inhaler once.

I was awake before six. I stopped by Franklin’s crib, watched his fingers flex and turn as he dreamed, watched his lips shape the words that he would soon begin to speak: the D’s and the M’s and the L’s and the V’s. Dada, Mama, Licia, and Vee.

I opened the door into Vee’s room. I walked across, opened the connecting door into Licia’s.

Licia had drawn the mattress to one side of the room, was reading, cross-legged, in the light from the open window. She was wearing a white summer dress that belonged to her mother.

She looked up. “It’s Sunday.” A glorious smile, full of peace.

“What are you reading, love?”

She held up the book so I could read the spine. The Gnostic Gospels.

“Is that a Sunday thing?”

She considered this. She smiled. “Maybe.”

“Borrow it when you’re finished?”

“Sure. Just . . . I don’t think a person ever finishes reading the Gospels.”

“That good?”

“Word of God. They say.” She smiled again, put down the book. She stretched her arms in front of her, began to unfold her legs, stood up in a single fluid movement. “I would like to finish cleaning my room today.”

“Your mum and I will help.”

“No need.”

I turned to look into Vee’s room. Vee was sitting up in bed, squinting. “It’s like nothing o’clock, Dad.”

“I know.”

Licia called through the door, “Maybe you’d like to help me clean, Vee?”

“Tell her to go back to bed,” said Vee.

“I’ll go make breakfast, Vee,” I said. “You can get up when you want.”

“Gee, Dad, thanks.”

I was at the farmhouse shortly after eight.

Bror was standing in the middle of the courtyard, waiting, but not for me. “Cal Curtis,” he said as he embraced me. I had caught him off guard but he smiled his easy beatific smile. “You are always welcome here.”

I said, “You told me to prepare for something utterly wonderful?”

“I did.” He was looking over my shoulder. “Please, enter the house.”

I heard car tires compressing the gravel. I turned. A little red cabriolet approaching, a woman at the wheel. Arno’s mother, elegant in a headscarf and sunglasses. I waved. Mari waved back.

“Make your way to the kitchen,” said Bror.

I walked across the courtyard, hovered on the threshold.