Hours later, twilight arriving with its hues of golden light, the boxes had been either unpacked or moved from the living room; some were stacked in the garage and others in the back shed. Hallie and the girls would share Shane’s room for now. Colleen imagined her nieces eventually spreading into her room the minute she returned to New York, taking over the space and filling it with their frilly pink clothes, a new sisterhood in the same room.

Now the three Donohue children sat with Gavin at the kitchen table. The little girls had gone off with their daddy to dinner. He’d picked them up with a loud honk and they’d run out to jump into the backseat. Only Shane had risen to greet Walter, taking the girls’ hands to escort them outside.

After Walter was gone, Hallie told them her ideas. “So I’ve done some more research and there are exercises you can do, Dad.”

“Why do I need to exercise?” Gavin looked from child to child and then smiled. “Ah! I know what it is—I have that damned Alzheimer’s. What exercises?”

Hallie held out her hand. “So this.” She began tapping her fingers with her thumb, one-two-three-four, on each hand, back and forth. “Saying whatever mantra you’d like, Dad. Something in Gaelic if you please.”

Gavin began to tap his fingers, saying “anam cara” until his tongue tangled the words and his tapping turned to only one finger over and over. He looked at his girls, the effort to continue too much after only a few tries.

“What does anam cara mean?” Hallie prodded.

“Soul friend.” He turned away. “You know, sometimes I think if I grab the edge of a memory and pull it toward me, my life will stay with me.” He stood then, his hands in fists at his sides.

“Dad.” Shane kept his voice soft, to calm him, settle him.

“What?” Gavin answered, but suddenly he wasn’t their dad. He was angry, his face red and contorted, his hand raised as if to pound the table. Then he turned and walked to the back door and outside, slamming the door hard.

The siblings stared at the closed door. “The memory book will help,” Hallie said. “When we give him the book, it will help. I just know it. He can look at it and . . .”

Shane stood. “Maybe.” He didn’t look at his sisters but walked to the door and gazed outside its window as he spoke. “Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself I’m doing something, anything at all, when really nothing can be done. When really it’s all meaningless.”

“No.” Colleen went to her brother’s side and also stared outside. “It’s not pointless. It’s . . . Whoa!” Colleen froze, pointing out the window. “Dad is unmooring the boat.”