“Your bags. You mean, bags you made? You sold them?”

She nodded, her blue eyes meeting mine, seeking my . . . approval?

“That is so sweet,” Beth said.

“Generous,” Meg said.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say, thank you,” our mother prompted.

“Thank you,” I repeated. “Oh, Ames, thanks!”

She beamed. “You’re welcome.”

And then we were hugging again, and I was crying,

“Hormones,” Meg said.

The family started arriving, first John—he brought the dog with him—then Trey and old Mr. Laurence. Hannah came, with pictures of her grandbabies. Finally, Aunt Phee’s white Mercedes pulled into the drive, our father in the passenger seat, her little Yorkie perched on his lap.

Phee greeted me with a kiss and a demand to know what I’d done to my hair.

Polly yapped and shook in our father’s arms, desperate to establish dominance over Lady. Dad held the dog awkwardly, a guest in his own home. I felt a hot surge of resentment and then a tug of pity. All this togetherness couldn’t be easy for him. He’d always held himself a little apart in family gatherings. Maybe I only noticed it now that he didn’t have his study to retreat to.

I took the dog from him, taking care it didn’t bite. “Hi, Dad. How was your conference?”

I stayed with him, listening, while my ears strained for the sound of the doorbell. While Trey juggled DJ and a conversation with Aunt Phee, and old Mr. Laurence got on the floor with Daisy, and John cornered Meg for a kiss in the hallway. Amy flitted around with a platter of crudités.

“Let me get that,” Beth said, taking a bowl from Mom and setting it on the table.

And still Eric didn’t come.

“I spoke with your mother,” my father said, recalling my attention. “You’re . . . all right?”

Our entire relationship was in the question and in the silence between. My father cared about me. He just couldn’t get involved in the messy emotional details.

But my first stories were letters I had written for him. He was the one who had encouraged me to read, who took me to the bookstore to buy Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at midnight. Who urged me to apply to grad school. Who taught me to stick up for what I believed in.

“I’m fine, Daddy.”

He looked relieved. “Good.” He cleared his throat as if he might say something more. Patted my shoulder instead. “Good.”

I blinked back tears. It was all he could offer. It was enough.

I found my sisters in the kitchen and took my turn at the sink, looking out on the empty pasture. The sun was sinking into the trees, taking the temperature down with it. The sky was stained pink. Slowly, the days were getting longer.

Eric was late.

Maybe his son’s game had been delayed. Or he’d changed his mind. Or there was traffic, an accident on the highway, maybe. My heart jerked. Oh God, what if Eric had been in an accident? What if . . .