“Oh, no.” Colleen shook her head. “There’s a gaggle of girls over there. I’m sure one of them will dance. I’m not a . . . dancer.”

“Who doesn’t like to dance?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I said I don’t do it. At least not in public.”

“Oh, let it go.” He grinned and placed his water glass on the bar. “Just follow me.” He took her hand and she did just that—followed him.

The last time Colleen had been on a dance floor it had been to learn the waltz for her wedding day. Another thing she’d avoided since then. Not because the memory was so painful, but because she was a terrible dancer. She tripped. She stepped on feet. She banged against people. And worst of all, she looked ridiculous.

But she followed Beckett onto the small square of plywood that Shane had put down only hours before to make a dance floor. The jig, called “Blarney Pilgrim,” vibrated with a simple rhythm. Beckett pulled her into his arms and against his body in a quick movement. She blushed with the immediacy of the motion, with the nearness of him. He took two quick steps and carried her with him, leading her in a way she’d never been led on a dance floor. Their steps fell into a rhythm and, without much trying, she was dancing.

She relaxed into the steps and the music, allowing memories and tension to slip away. Forgetting, she thought, wasn’t so bad after all.

THE MEMORY BOOK

Interview with Bob Macken

The photo was torn at the corner like it had been ripped from a scrapbook. It was a color image—Gavin stood on a dock at the marina with his friend Bob Macken, the sheriff, their upright fishing poles beside them, their silhouettes long on the wooden planks. The men squinted into the sun.

Bob Macken now sat across from Colleen at a corner table in the local café. He held a cup of coffee in hands scarred by a lifetime of hard work. His face was leathery and dark with a ring of pale skin around his forehead where his police cap or his baseball cap or his fishing hat sat except, like now, when he was inside. His blue eyes met Colleen’s gaze.

“I don’t know where you found this photo. I’m not even sure who took it,” he said.

“I don’t know either.” Colleen looked at this man she’d known all her life. “But it’s one that Shane chose.”

“I think Shane might have taken it, actually. He came to get your dad from the docks that day. He was so worried about him. It was the one-week mark after your mother’s death.”

A tremble of regret passed through Colleen’s chest. She had left so many problems to her brother. But Shane had assumed the brunt of obligations.