On the walk to the studio, Amelia was in a thoughtful mood. The sun was shining, then cut off by clouds, then shining again. Something about the mild air and the quality of light as it came in shafts through the branches convinced her that spring was finally a possibility.

“Well, that’s a sure sign of spring,” said her father, suddenly. Someone—obviously a child—had drawn with chalk on the sidewalk in front of them. There were crude tulips with pointy petals and scribbly bumblebees as big as basketballs and the crooked outline of a hopscotch game with some of the numbers written backward.

Amelia made her way through the squares, hopping on one foot. She felt silly, but only slightly. It was fun and it reminded her of being little.

“Look,” said Amelia. “No kid did that.” In big, blue loopy cursive writing, the sentence How is human frailty connected to love? covered two whole squares of the sidewalk.

“Must be a philosopher,” said Amelia’s father.

“Or an English professor,” said Amelia.

He laughed deeply and picked up his pace.

At the clay studio, Amelia turned shy. She liked that Louise left them alone after saying hello and giving a quick Casey update.

Amelia led her father to the shelf that held the rabbits she’d been working on, as well as some other pieces from weeks past. She explained how some pieces were still drying; some were fired, ready to be glazed; some were glazed, ready to be fired again.

He examined them closely, moving slowly along the shelf, running his fingers over a few of them. “May I?” he asked.

“Sure,” Amelia replied.

He picked up one of the rabbits and rotated it. He tilted his head, rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “Graceful,” he said simply as he replaced the rabbit. “Amelia, these are wonderful.”

She liked the feeling that swept through her.

And she liked that her father didn’t ask any questions when Louise handed her an envelope from Casey.

“He gave this to me when I saw him last night,” said Louise. “He wanted you to have it.”

“Thanks,” said Amelia. “He’s really okay?”

“He’s okay. And remember, he’s not too far away—about forty-five minutes. You’ll see him again.”

There was an awkward silence. Amelia shifted her weight from foot to foot, flexed her toes. She felt clumsy. She turned the envelope in her hand. It said Private. The envelope was too big to put in her pocket, unless she folded it. She held it tightly and close, the word Private against her jacket, hidden.

“Well, thank you, Louise,” her father said. “And thank you, Amelia, for showing me your beautiful creations. Okay. Let’s go.”

He wasn’t one for lingering in situations like this.

As they walked out the door, he said, “I could use some coffee. Let’s stop at the coffee shop. What do you say?”

“I say yes.”

“Let’s drink to human frailty,” he said with a little laugh, “and, of course, its connection to love.”