They’d just arrived—Hallie and the girls—to find Colleen alone on the back stoop with a mug of coffee. The nieces hugged Colleen, tripping over her and splashing her coffee onto the concrete as they rushed through the back door to find Uncle Shane.

“What?” Colleen looked at Hallie, wishing she’d had at least ten more minutes alone. She was unaccustomed to starting the day with conversation. Living alone, she’d learned to move more slowly into the world.

Hallie sat next to Colleen and pointed again. “The tree house. It’s fallen apart just like us.”

Colleen took in a long breath, inhaling the aroma of the coffee, the warm earth and salty air. “Hallie . . .” She hadn’t seen her sister since the day before yesterday during the scene she’d witnessed between Walter and Hallie from behind the dumpster.

“It’s true.” Hallie swung her legs sideways to face her sister. “It’s like the tree house couldn’t take the passing years either. Dad once said he’d fix it for Sadie and Rosie, but he never did.”

“It’s just a tree house,” Colleen said flatly.

“Maybe.” Hallie brushed her hands through the air, dismissing the notion. “Or maybe it stands for everything.”

In silence they stared at the crumbling structure. The tree house listed against the tallest branches, clinging to them with the last of its rusted nails. The floor was still intact but slanted, the roof long gone. Several of the board steps that had led to the top, nailed into the tree trunk, were still attached, but the lowest surviving one was too high to step onto, out of reach to gain a foothold.

“I’m sorry I got so mad the other night.” Hallie stood when she said this, as if she meant to run as soon as the words left her mouth. “It hit me wrong to see Walter being so flirty with you. I was mad at him; at his stupidity.”

Colleen shrugged, stared at the tree house. How had she not really looked at it since she’d arrived? It posed a danger—it needed to be taken down.

“I guess that’s the end of that discussion.” Hallie took a step down to the grass. “You’re obviously not listening.”

“I’m listening. I just don’t know what to say.” Colleen shrugged her shoulders, shifting her gaze past the tree house to the river. “I really don’t. I just think we should never talk about Walter, or the past. I’m so sad about Dad. I have decisions about work I need to make; this party to get through; our memory book to finish. We don’t need to rehash what we already know about us—let’s just focus on Dad’s care.”