The first card was Gavin’s birth and they went on in chronological order until 1979, when the dates were scribbled out several times. “Here.” Hallie jabbed her finger onto the wall, at five or six cards. “Dad goes to Ireland, right? In 1979 right after his college graduation? And comes home after several months, immediately marries Mother and moves here to buy the pub. Ten months later Colleen is born.”

“Simple.” Shane spoke quietly; anything else might send their sister off some emotional ledge.

“No.” Hallie took a photo from her bag and set it against the note card. “This is Dad in Ireland and the date stamp says December 1980.” She shook her head. “But he wasn’t there then. He was here, with Mom, and then Colleen . . . a year later.”

“Then the date on the photo is wrong.” Shane took it from her hand. “Damn, when it turns a new year, I write the old year on everything for two months. Someone could have easily written the wrong date.”

“It’s stamped, not written, by whomever developed the film.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s—”

Hallie cut Shane short. “There are more pictures like it. Think hard.” Hallie tapped the side of her head. “Dad is lying to us. There’s something he hasn’t told us. This isn’t dementia. These are cold, hard facts in front of us. Something is off.”

“Does it matter?” Shane approached his sister carefully.

“Yes, it matters. It’s our family. What if he’s lying?” Her voice stuttered on the last word. “Dad doesn’t lie, or I thought he didn’t.”

Colleen tapped the note cards. “So here’s the thing.” Hallie and Shane turned to her. “I found the same problem when I interviewed the real estate agent.”

“Mr. Bivins?”

Colleen nodded. “According to him, the photo I showed him was taken on the day Mother and Dad bought the pub when I was about ten months old—in January 1982. But Dad always told us that he and Mother bought the pub before I was born. I thought Mr. Bivins was confused—that maybe it was just a picture from later and he got the dates mixed up.”

Shane flopped into a chair. “So when did Dad really buy the pub, and why would he lie about that? And what was he doing in Ireland in December 1980, when we were always told he married Mother in May of that year?”

“Exactly,” Hallie said.

“But do any of these dates matter,” Colleen asked, “or is what happened in between the milestones what really counts, the blank spaces between each of Hallie’s note cards? That’s where his life was lived . . .” She pointed at the wall between the cards that stated, “Married Elizabeth” and “Colleen born.”

Shane said, “Yes, but we need the markers to navigate, to . . . It’s what we have.”