While Harriet makes coffee, I am furiously creating a plan for my surprise guest. I tug at the ends of my hair, trying to pretend that I’m not as nervous as I feel inside. I don’t want to screw this up.

Sefina leans over, taps my notebook. “Claire?”

I look up; everyone is drinking coffee, and most of their plates are nearly empty. “Oh, sorry. I just wanted to make sure I was organized for tonight.”

The little girl chews her last bite and looks at me thoughtfully. “We’ve spent tons of time together, Ms. Claire, and I’m really good at helping you remember. Dad says it’s because I talk so much. So you don’t have to worry. I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Maree.” I am overwhelmed but somehow not surprised. The girl seems comfortable with me, as though we are old friends, and it warms me from the inside out. I set my pen down. “I’d better not miss out on this cake.”

Harriet slides a piece onto my plate, and the cake is spongy and sweet, and the baked pineapples pair perfectly with the bursting accompaniment of plump cherries and the earthiness of the coffee.

“Do you know that this is Dad’s favorite cake?” I say. Ruth nods; her eyes shift and I see her looking at my note card. I tap it. Dad died from a heart attack on September 21. My throat tightens and I add another hash mark to the card. “Mom made it for his birthday every year.” I look at Maree. “One year he took the pineapples and stuck them to his face like glasses.” Maree giggles. “And I laughed so hard that milk came out my nose.”

Mom laughs now and it’s the same beautiful, melodic sound that I never got tired of hearing. Oh, Vance, she’d said to my dad and gently took off the pineapples; then she’d cupped the side of his face. They’d locked eyes, smiling at each other in a way that made my seven-year-old heart burst like the cherries in the cake. Then he’d pulled her into his lap and kissed her, and I remember scrunching my nose. Ewww! What I really thought was that they were like a knight and a princess, and our lives were a perfect fairy tale.

Sefina pipes up. “Claire, did you hear about the people who got caught camping inside the Buckner last week?”

I shake my head, not surprised because the Buckner attracts everything from ghost hunters to adventure seekers to people fascinated with history and abandoned buildings.

Harriet’s hoarse laugh settles over us like a rough blanket. “Started a fire and everything, like they were outside under the stars. Ridiculous!”