Suddenly, she was inside their old home in the Valley, and the three of them were having dinner, all exactly as they were now.

Jo, sixty-seven. Ethan, thirty-five.

And Ira.

Thirty-six, handsome, dressed in an LA Raiders T-shirt.

Exactly the same as the day he’d died.

‘I’m so proud of you, son,’ Ira was saying, reaching across the dinner table to Ethan, putting a hand on his boy’s arm. ‘You’ve made your mom and me so incredibly proud.’

Ethan smiled at his dad.

He didn’t seem to notice they were the same age.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said. ‘We really miss you.’

‘I know.’ Ira looked between them both and took Jo’s hand in his, his skin warm, alive. All three of them were joined now. ‘I know you do. I miss you both so much – more than you could ever know. But I’ve been watching, don’t you worry about that.’ Ira studied his son, blinking, and then glanced at Jo. He was becoming emotional, his voice trembling. ‘I’ve been watching Davy Crockett here.’ He smiled at Jo, and Jo couldn’t stop herself this time: she began to cry. ‘I told you that you could do it,’ he said to her, tears welling in his own eyes now. ‘I told you, Kader, didn’t I?’

Jo laughed, nodded, gripping her husband’s hand. ‘You told me,’ she replied, never wanting to let go of him, never wanting him to slip away again.

‘I always told your mom,’ Ira said, looking across at his son, his fingers moving from Ethan’s arm to his hand. ‘I always told her, “You’re the strongest person I ever met.”’

Jo looked at Ira, at a face she’d only been able to see in memories and photographs for so long, and suddenly some part of her knew this wasn’t real. She knew it was a dream, a fever, some sort of hallucination that would soon be over, because she could hear wind passing through the trees of a forest, and it was growing louder every second. But she didn’t care. Whatever this moment was, and however long it lasted, it was real enough.

It was Ira, and Ethan, and her.

It was her family as it was always meant to be.

For now, Joline Kader was home.

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