The old sundresses looked inviting and simple. She ran her fingers over the various fabrics until she paused on a blue-and-white-striped dress, even now in style, and slipped it off the hanger and over her body. Yes, it still fit.

With a quick glance in the mirror and a brush of her humidity-curled hair, which she pulled back into a knot, she entered the kitchen to find Shane and Dad laughing at something on Shane’s phone.

“You know I hate missing out.” Colleen poked at her brother and peeked over his shoulder at a photo of a dog riding a bike. “Not that funny.”

“Yes, it is,” Dad said. “You gotta enjoy the little things, Lena.”

“You look nice today, sis.”

“Well, thank you.”

Dad spooned a poached egg onto a plate and handed it to Colleen. “Special plans?”

She nodded. “Beckett is taking me to the historical society so I can see some old records about the pub.”

“Old records?” Gavin held a spoon in the air and a large blob of egg fell to the hardwood floor.

Colleen jumped back to avoid getting eggs on her sandals and tried to ignore the fumble, one she might make herself. “Yes, you know—when it was built, who used to own it and things like that. He’s gathering all the records that will support his proposal that it become a historic landmark. He said there are old pictures and I thought it would be interesting.”

“Interesting.” Gavin repeated her last word and stared off as if someone was standing behind her.

“Dad . . .” Shane’s voice was soft and firm. “Remember? We’re trying to get historic landmark status for a tax break. That nice young man you met . . .”

Gavin nodded. “Yes. But is it necessary? Why can’t we leave it all the way it is?”

“Everything helps, Dad. And we won’t be changing anything at all.”

Gavin’s face shut off, closed to his son and daughter. He set the plastic spatula on the burning eye of the stove’s electric coil and walked away.

“Dad!” Shane grabbed the plastic utensil, now melting with long strings of black plastic stretching from pan to utensil, and waved it in the air. Colleen ran to the sink and turned on the water so Shane could hold it under the stream. A soft hiss was followed by the bitter stench of burned plastic.

“This can’t go on.” Shane’s voice cracked as Gavin headed outside.

“I see that.” Colleen’s fingers tingled. “The social worker is coming to meet us day after tomorrow at your apartment. We’ll make plans, and not just a scrapbook of memories.”

“But still the memory book.” His voice shook. “Still that.”

“Yes.” Colleen placed a hand on her brother’s arm.

•   •   •