“For being the daughter of another woman. I think she wanted to, and I think she tried, but I’m not sure she ever did.”

“Oh, Lena. I don’t think that’s true.”

“Well, whether it is or isn’t, I know where you’re going with this: you want me to forgive Hallie. And I do. And I will. It will be a forgiving that has to happen in new ways every day. We have to find a way to trust each other in even the smallest things.”

He squeezed her tight and for a few moments they both fell asleep.

Colleen was startled from sleep when Gavin departed. He woke Colleen when he left them, and later no one could ever convince her otherwise. She didn’t tell anyone about the sensation of his hand on her forehead, about his voice saying he loved her, about the pungent aroma of the river washing over her. She sat bolt upright on that sticky vinyl couch, hearing the code blue call on the intercom, and she didn’t need to be told her dad was gone.

When they came to tell her, she was already bent over onto her knees, Shane by her side, and they were both weeping, already weeping. It was his heart, they told the Donohue siblings. It couldn’t survive the harm done that day by the seawater coursing through his veins and into the cells of his heart muscle.

Hallie joined Shane and Colleen, and then the chaplain, the one they’d never requested, and the social worker and the doctor. The siblings didn’t see or notice anyone but one another as they were hustled into a private room.

“We’ll never even know what his last words were,” Hallie said, her hands twisting the Kleenex she held into a knot.

“It only matters what his last words were to you. Or me. Or Colleen,” Shane said.

“‘Do not settle for the mediocre to avoid pain.’” Colleen recited the words her dad had said to her.

“What?” Hallie looked up.

“That’s one of the last things he said to me.”

Hallie propped her hand onto the side table. “I have no idea of the last thing he said to me. No idea.” Then she groaned. “How am I to tell the girls about this? They are already facing enough loss and change.” Her voice cracked and Colleen found herself wrapping her arms around her sister, pulling her close.

“‘Don’t forget the fiddle player,’” Shane said. “Those were his last words to me after I took him home. I guess he meant to tip him, but there wasn’t even a fiddle player that night.”

“It was Colleen, his other love,” Hallie said. “The fiddle player. Remember? He said she was playing the fiddle when he first saw her.”

“Oh . . . yes.” Shane sat back in a padded chair in a posture of defeat, spine bowed and shoulders slumped.