“Ms. Boone?” Colleen grabbed a white butcher’s-paper package marked “Turkey” and a bag of sliced Swiss cheese. Mustard. Mayonnaise. Lettuce. Tomato. She placed them all on the dark green linoleum counter that hadn’t been changed since the day her parents had moved in.

“You know, the housekeeper,” he said and went to the cupboard to pull down a loaf of white bread and hand it to Colleen.

“I don’t think I’ve met her. Is she new?”

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the rain streaking down the windowpane. “I think so.” Then he turned to Colleen and fear passed over his face. “I bought the groceries yesterday. Or was it the day before? With Shane. In anticipation of your arrival. I totally forgot. Ms. Boone has been gone for a while now.”

A nervous thrumming filled Colleen’s chest. He’d forgotten, but then he’d remembered that he forgot. “You have all my favorite things. Thanks, Dad.”

She busied herself. Toast the bread. Spread a thin line of Duke’s mayonnaise and a thin one of mustard. Lick the mustard off her fingers. Wipe the tomato juice from the counter. Add a tomato slice. Then his voice asked, “Do you have a man in your life?” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “Anyone you love?”

“No.” Colleen set the sandwiches on her mother’s flowered thin-china plates. If you are going to have fancy plates, you must use them, Mother used to say.

“I worry about you, little lark.” Her dad placed a napkin on his lap. “I want you to love someone. To really love.”

“I have loads of love, Dad. I love you. I love Shane. I love life and my job and adventure . . . I have friends in New York, and I love them, too.”

“And you love your sister.” He leaned forward and placed both hands on the table. “I know you do.”

“Oh, Dad.”

He took his sandwich in both hands and held it, but spoke before taking the first bite. “Love isn’t to be parsed out, Lena. It is to be spread wide. When a heart is damaged, it only hurts more to shut it down.”

“What Hallie did was more than damage—it was betrayal.”

“I know about betrayal.” Then he dropped his sandwich onto the plate and stood. “And I know about forgiveness. Wait here.”

“What?” Colleen stood.

“Hold on,” he called from the living room and moments later appeared with a framed photo in his hands. “This”—he handed it to her—“is more important than any man. No matter who was engaged to him first. No matter anything at all.”