“I wrote most of it; I know what it says.”

Hallie shook her head, strands of hair falling into her face. “But it’s different when you see it all in one place like that—his whole life in words and photos. Birth to now. There are pictures of us as babies. Of Mother when she was young. Of this pub and our house and the river, which is the only thing that doesn’t change. There’s a continuity you can only see when you look at the larger picture.”

“Then I’ll go look at it.” Colleen rose and then stopped. It hit her: the secret love story that had shaped all their lives was now on paper, not secret at all. “What did Shane do with the love story? Did he include it or leave it out?”

“He left it out . . .” Hallie shrank back. “I asked him to leave it out because of Mother. Other people will one day read that book.”

“No.” Colleen shook her head. “He’ll know, Hallie. Somewhere deep inside, Dad will know that the story isn’t complete. Just like I always knew.” Inside Colleen’s chest a galloping began, a herd of horses.

“What do you mean just like you knew?”

“I always knew something wasn’t right between Mother and me. But no one told me what that something was. No one told me the truth. Dad might be losing his memory, but when he looks at that life story, there’ll be an aching absence. He might not know in the way you’d define it, but he’ll know.”

“What do you want me to do, then?” Hallie asked, spreading her hands wide and lifting her eyebrows above her glasses.

Colleen leaned down, her hands spread wide on the table. “I want that story included, that’s exactly what I want. Because, Hallie, it’s the truth.” Colleen stood and placed her hand on her chest, over her heart. “By erasing that truth to make a prettier story, you erase part of who I am, part of who Dad is. And”—she spread her arms wide—“part of why this place exists at all.”

“But we need to protect Mother.”

Colleen shook her head. “What the hell are we protecting her from? Because you know, and I know, that making the story sound sweeter doesn’t make it better. We can try and put all kinds of frosting and sugar on our lives, but I’m putting Dad’s love story back into that book.”

“His love story?” Hallie asked. “Of course you’re part of that love story. Of course you are.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s why you want it in the book. Because you are part of it. You aren’t thinking of Dad’s reputation. Or Mother’s wishes. Or Dad’s promises to her.”