I put on makeup, ground beans for coffee. I went back upstairs to bring the box down and restore it to pristine order. Literally, all I could do was to hope for the best, and that was never a problem for me. All the while I was wondering if this situation gave me permission to do something that would have been unthinkable even a year ago. Then, I did it. I still vacuumed under Stefan’s bed, and I knew he kept a boot box down there filled with photos. Slowly, I drew them out. The whole top layer was made up of lavish photos of his work, gorgeous evidence of his ability. There was a photo of a series of stone shelves that formed a waterfall, all hung about with thick, flowering vines and backed by a stand of sunflowers. It looked like a feature from the garden of a king. Another garden was laid out in a series of concentric circles around a fountain, three rings forming masses of yellow and purple perennials hugged tightly by small, shiny evergreens trimmed to the shape of big beads in a string. These had clearly been taken by Stefan with his phone and made on the photo printer in our house, which sat on the corner library table that was Jep’s makeshift desk.

A thick pocket folder held all the family photos that my sister Phoebe had sent to Stefan in prison. I slid those back and fastened the envelope. Beneath those, there was a plain, thinner envelope marked SUMMER. I opened it.