On the west wall, away from reflected light, was his worktable. It was a slab of maple, reaching from one side to the other. On it was an enormous video screen, a keyboard below, and to the left was the big console with storage measured in terabytes. He didn’t have to look to know his thousands of photos, as well as all of Vera’s articles, plus every note and letter, were all there, categorized by date and subject. From the day he left, he’d sent copies of everything to Cait, and when Mike reached fourteen, it was all sent to her to store.

On the back wall was a tall cabinet with linen-covered boxes for his lenses and the camera bodies. Everything was labeled.

The other side was Vera’s work area. Kelly certainly knew her sister! There was nothing that spoke of technology. The desk looked like somebody’s castoff. The chair’s upholstery was nearly worn out.

On the wall above it were things that had good memories for Vera and for Miguel. Kelly had emailed him, asking what items in the storage units were Vera’s favorites. “Anything to do with Michaela.” He sent her photos of a couple of masks, a bow, two shell necklaces and a photo taken by Miguel of Vera and Mike laughing, lit only by firelight.

All those things were artfully arranged on the wall.

In front of the desk was a fat chaise longue that Miguel knew was the one that had been in Vera’s room when they were kids. It was faded and worn.

He turned to his right, to the long wall, and smiled. There was the old bookcase from the cellar, the one he’d painted. It showed its age and weariness from a life hidden underground. He and Vera had bought it together, bargaining to get it for five dollars. At the time, they’d been shocked at the high price.

Books and papers, all curled, rippled and yellowed but dry, had been carefully placed on the shelves.

As Miguel ran his fingertips across them, his eyes teared. He knew they were from the cellar, from that place where he and Vera had spent so many wonderful hours. Where they’d worked on trying to stop a war. Where they’d created Michaela.

He wiped his hand across his eyes. He’d told Vera that returning to Kansas was not the end but a new beginning. The look she gave him at his cliché had nearly scared him, but now he smiled in memory. It really was going to be good to be near their daughter every day. And to be close to Cait. He might even help pick apples.

He glanced at his side of the room. More likely, he’d spend his time trying to cajole Vera into writing about what she’d seen and done.