The band played on as background music one hardly noticed above the din of voices until it stopped and the room fell silent. Yes, it was the absence of something—music or a loved one—that brought one to attention, that raised the gaze and focused the mind on the present moment.

Silence shimmered in the room and a deep, resonant male voice began to sing “The Lark in the Clear Air.” “Dear thoughts are in my mind and my soul soars enchanted . . .”

Time paused, breath slowed and the room filled with the presence of Gavin Donohue. Colleen scanned the crowd for the source of the singing and found Bob standing on the makeshift stage with his eyes closed and a hand over his heart. His voice rose a cappella above those gathered. It seemed to soar above the building and higher still. She’d never known Bob possessed this gift—how much hidden and unknown remained to be revealed?

When Bob finished the song, the room broke into applause with hollers and stomping feet, and although the gratitude was for his singing, it was also for the life and gift of Gavin Donohue.

Shane’s voice then reverberated through the room as he spoke into the microphone. “I’d like to give everyone a chance to speak if they’d wish. But first, my sister Colleen will say a few words.”

The sounds of murmuring voices and clinking glassware fell away. The room became as silent as in the hours after closing when Colleen had walked through the pub with Dad as he locked up.

She froze. Hallie had made a schedule for the memorial. Music. Food. Speeches. And yes, Colleen knew she was supposed to represent the family and speak for all of them, but now she had no idea why she’d agreed. She hadn’t written a speech. She hadn’t thought much about it past the idea that she would tell everyone how much she loved her dad, how much they all did. But now that wasn’t enough. She wanted to honor him. She wanted everyone in the room to understand who he was in the world, how his very presence was a spark of light, a wave of wonder.

What would she say now that she knew she had a mother she never met, and a dad she understood in deeper ways; now that she understood the story-rivers running beneath her dad’s life, how the invisible was as influential as the visible? How the river had been his metaphor, his internal landscape surging behind their home in external form.

“Colleen?” Shane’s voice made the microphone squeal, a high-pitched sound that shook Colleen from her frozen place. She walked toward the front, winding her way through the crowd, seeing no one, hearing nothing, her ears buzzing with fear.

Shane hugged her and said, “You’ve got this.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.”