Colleen took the wooden frame, upside down in his hands, and turned it right side up. There they were: Colleen and Hallie at six and seven years old. They’d never been the kind of sisters that others said looked alike—in fact, they were opposites in many ways. Colleen with her dirty blond, unruly curly hair. Hallie with her white blond hair that was so straight it might have been ironed every morning by their mother, just like her dad’s shirts. Colleen with the heart-shaped chin and Hallie’s squared off with dimples. Hallie with brown eyes, and Colleen’s like their dad’s—green and deep set and almond shaped. In this photo, they were facing the camera laughing with their mouths open and their heads thrown back. A burst of sunlight behind them, a setting sun, was caught in the camera lens.

“Christmas Eve,” Colleen said.

“I think so. Your mother knew where and when every photo was taken. I only know that it shows love. A lot of it. And you can find it again. I believe that.”

“Dad.” Colleen exhaled and placed the frame on the kitchen table. “I remember. I can even tell you what we were doing that night—putting food out for the reindeer on the dock, leaving cookies, too. We laughed because you told us that Santa would be using leprechauns that year to deliver the presents. I remember it all, Dad. But it doesn’t change what happened after.”

“Yes, it does. Every memory changes what happens now and later.” His sandwich was long forgotten. “If it’s true what the doctors say, if it’s true that I will lose my memories to some plaque in my brain, I know this—memories influence everything. And what am I without them? I have no idea. But yours—your memories, my little lark, use the good ones.”

“Dad.”

He set his hand on her arm. “Just forgive. And state that forgiveness.”

“You seem to always be blaming me for leaving. What about blaming her for what she did? Can’t you see my side? Don’t you ever get mad at her?” Colleen closed her eyes, tried to center her emotions to right.

“Of course I did. I struggled with it; I used harsh words I wished I could take back. Hallie had to also forgive me for the things I said to her and Walter, the blame I cast on them.”

Colleen held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.” She turned away. In a small way she’d been able to pretend Hallie and Walter didn’t exist as part of the family she left. Yes, she knew it was the truest form of denial, but we all do what we can to survive.

Dad continued over her thoughts. “But what use is that blame to carry around? What use is that?”