“Well, that’s just dumb.” Julie put on the shirt and folded away the ironing board. She checked herself in the mirror of the hall tree. “You can’t be done with Finn. He makes you happy. This summer was the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“And summer is over. You’ve got school, and I’ve got work.”

“Right. Work.” Julie plucked a gauzy peasant blouse from the laundry basket. “Wear this one today,” she said. “It looks great on you.”

Camille remembered the last time she’d worn it—on a date with Finn, the day he’d taken her to Gordes. The day she’d started taking pictures again. The day had ended with a magical, golden evening half a world away. She remembered how he’d undone the tasseled tie at the neckline, sliding it down to bare her shoulder and kiss her there.

She pushed away the memory. “I’m not going anywhere, except to the darkroom.”

“You can still look great.” Julie took a breath and started to say more. Just then someone tapped a car horn outside. “There’s my ride,” she said, shouldering her book bag. “Gotta bounce.”

Camille gave her a hug. “Today is going to be awesome. And you’re amazing.”

Julie’s smile was a bit shy. “Yeah. Well, we’ll see.”

“I’m really proud of you, Jules.”

“So far, all I’ve done today is iron a shirt.”

Camille laughed and held open the door. She waved at Tarek and his sister. Her heart swelled as she watched Julie going down the walk with a decided spring in her step. She was inches taller, with the figure of a young woman now, not a little girl. Look what we made, Jace, she thought with a wave of affection. We did well. She’s doing well.

Alone in the house, Camille slipped on the peasant blouse and a pair of skinny capris, and headed for the darkroom. Back to school for Julie, back to business as usual for Camille. She had some prints to make for a D.C. client. She was studying a contact sheet, trying to decide which print to bring to light, when she heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, and then a knock at the door. The courier, probably. Here to take away the last tenuous remnant of Finn.

She picked up the parcel and carried it to the door. But it wasn’t the courier. On the other side of the threshold stood Finn. He wore a rumpled shirt and jeans, and was holding a thick manila envelope and a bouquet of flowers.

She stepped back in shock, then yanked open the screen door. “I just hit send an hour ago,” she said.

“I saw your message come in on my phone as I was driving. Something about pictures?”

She almost forgot to breathe. “Your father’s pictures. There was an exposed roll in his camera—”

“Cool, but I’m not here because of somebody’s pictures,” he said, stepping inside. He laid the flowers on the counter and handed her the envelope. “Lisette’s letters to Hank,” he said. “We found them among the stuff from the attic.”