He shook his head, shaking free from the words that had just tarnished their house that had held kindness, love and warmth. “Will someone please take me to the pub? Whatever y’all need to discuss, I know you’ll do without me anyway.”

Shane stepped up. “Dad, it’s only ten in the morning.”

Gavin touched his son’s face, such a tender gesture, before taking deliberate steps to leave. Just before he walked out, he picked up the photo once more. He stared at it, squinted; and then he glanced at his children, his eyes seeming to see something far away, misted with private memories.

He tossed the photo onto the table, and then he left with the quick slap of the screen door.

“He’s obviously confused.” Shane brushed his hands through the air. “I shouldn’t have brought that one. It just doesn’t have anyone else in it to ask and . . . I thought it might jog a memory.”

Colleen stared at the photo. “That’s the problem, Shane. You can’t shake loose what’s already gone. So it looks like what he does is create memories, or facts, to fill in the empty spaces. We can’t make this harder on him. He’s too embarrassed to say he doesn’t know, so . . .”

“Should I go check on him?” Hallie asked, her hand already on the screen door handle.

“Leave him be.” Shane rubbed at his weary face. “He’ll probably go mess around in his shed or get the fishing pole . . .”

Hallie went to the window and pulled aside the green-and-white-checkered curtain. Their mother had sewn it twenty years before on her Singer machine in the spare bedroom, whistling and singing. With that image, Colleen felt so very young again, aware of a world full of possibility, buoyed by the certainty that she was both safe and loved.

Hallie glanced over her shoulder. “He went to the shed.”

Shane also glanced through the window and then asked, “What progress have you made on the book? The party is in a week.”

“Eight days,” Colleen said. “And I have notes from four more interviews. I just need to turn them into stories.” She set the photo on the side table once again. “So that’s nine so far. How far are you, Hallie?”

Hallie spoke without turning toward them. “I’ve been planning the party. I haven’t really . . .” She spun around. “I have two and that’s it. I’m sorry. The party planning and the kids keep me buried. I still don’t have permission to block off the street and if we don’t get that we’re—”

“I can call,” Shane said. “The city commissioner owes me a favor anyway.”

“Well, can you wiggle your nose and find me a pastry maker? I wanted shamrock cupcakes, mini ones, and the baker I hired said it was too much. So no, I haven’t done any more interviews.”