He looks the same. That was Colleen’s first thought. There wasn’t anything different about him. Shane was wrong and he’d tricked her into coming there with some cockamamie story about Dad’s mind fading.

Short and round, the shape of him. His thick hair had thinned hardly at all, still dark and wavy, though now infused with silver. He ran his hands through it and reached Colleen in a few steps. His green eyes—so green they almost seemed painted on, gazed at her. He threw his arms around her and held her fast. He was only a few inches taller than Colleen, and her face rested on his shoulder. “What are you doing here, my Lena?”

“You didn’t know?” she asked. “Shane didn’t tell you I was coming for a few weeks?” She stepped back, holding his hands.

“Yes! Yes.” Dad nodded and hugged her again. “I’ve been working on the garden and just totally forgot. Now don’t you go thinking that one little forgetting means that quack of a doctor was right. Of course I remembered you were coming. I’ve been counting the days.”

“I only decided yesterday.”

“Then I counted one day.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re staying here, right? Not some hotel like last Christmas?”

That was a good sign. He remembered that at Christmas she’d stayed in the creaky old bed-and-breakfast—Auntie Mae’s—on Main Street. The one with mildew in the shower and the snoring man in the next room and the breakfast of packaged biscuits only partially warmed. She’d stayed there, and tolerated it, because Hallie and Walter and their adorable girls had decided it was the Christmas to let Santa visit Grandy’s house. They’d coordinated their visits so that Colleen didn’t go to the house until they’d left for their own home for a rest and naps. Colleen had carefully stepped over the children’s new dolls and toys and tutus they’d left for their return that night, and enjoyed the afternoon with her brother and dad.

“Nope, no hotel for me, Dad. I’m staying here.”

How could he look so normal while plaque grew over his brain neurons? She had the impulse to shake his head, loosen the tangles. How could they be standing on the back lawn with the river flowing by and the sun moving toward the horizon and far off a seagull crying out while something interrupted the connections in Gavin Donohue’s brain?

“Dad.” Colleen touched his cheek. “We’re going to find a way to stop this.”

“Stop what?” He looked out to the river as if something were arriving that he could not see—a storm or a ship.