“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We’re just going over the finances,” Shane said. “Everything costs more than we could have imagined. We’re going to have to share the burden.”

“I’ll do whatever I can.” Colleen set the stack of stories on the table. “Tell me what you need and where we are.”

“Well, Dad doesn’t have long-term care insurance—he thought it was a waste of money—so we have to find out what that means. He’s eligible for disability through social security, but it will be small.” Shane spoke in a robotic voice as if reading off a teleprompter, his eyes askance at the far wall. Then he looked directly at Colleen. “His resources . . . our resources won’t last more than six months if he needs in-home care. I hope the social worker has some answers, but we’ve all got to find a way to help.”

Hallie held up her hand. “And we are not talking about memory care homes or anything like that. Not yet. Not now.”

Colleen placed her hand over her chest, where she could feel her heart rolling, picking up the pace. “I will do anything I can. I will. I promise.”

Shane pointed at the stories she’d dropped onto the table. “Thank you so much for this, big sis.”

He bent over the pages, Hallie doing the same, their heads close enough to touch. Hallie’s tangled hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, just as it had been when they were children and came off the johnboat. Shane scratched absently at his temples, leafed quickly through the pages without reading them word for word. He looked up first and smiled at Colleen; she felt warmth and a swooping feeling in her stomach—this was her family. Her family.

“Lena, this is simply amazing,” he said.

“Well, thank you.” She bowed with her coffee mug held high. “I stayed awake most of the night and it was like Dad was with me. I just wrote and wrote and the little vignettes came.” She glanced at Hallie, who was sorting the pages, lining them in order one after the other. “You don’t like them?”

“I do.” Hallie looked up and Colleen saw the circles under her sister’s eyes, dark and swollen. “But like I said, some dates are funky.”

“I took the dates straight off the photos . . .”

“I know.” Hallie stood and stretched, rubbing at her already obviously irritated eyes. “It might just be how tired I am. I’m preoccupied with planning the party.”

“The party . . .”

“Yes.” Hallie’s unwavering gaze suggested she’d found her gumption again. “The party. The one I am planning alone.”