Slowly, they made their way through the small dining room and into the kitchen—both of them empty. Down a short hallway to the bedrooms, they found Aunt Gert’s door open, but Peyton’s was closed. They crept to it and listened. There was no movement inside, but they both heard a sound, faint but audible. Aunt Gert motioned for Peyton to get his spade ready, then she quickly opened the door to his room and turned on the light. They both gasped and dropped their weapons in a clanging heap on the floor.

“Katie?” Aunt Gert exclaimed, rushing to the bedside, where Peyton’s mother lay on top of the covers.

She was fully dressed—including her shoes—and looked like she had been crying forever. Peyton could see her mouth moving but couldn’t make out what she was trying to say. Finally, he heard it: “He’s gone.”

Aunt Gert sat down on the bedside as she took a handkerchief out of the nightstand and handed it to Peyton’s mother. “I know you’re heartbroken, honey, but remember your child is listenin’, and he’s gonna remember every word you say.”

Peyton’s mother looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. He hadn’t moved since he saw her there.

She held her arms out to him, and Aunt Gert slid down to make a place for him next to his mother.

“Daddy?” he said.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“How? I mean—I thought—I thought he was getting better.”

She reached up and laid her hand against his face, answering in fits and starts as she struggled to breathe. “He was getting better . . . every day. Just this morning . . . we walked out onto the hospital terrace . . . to enjoy a little sunshine . . . We talked about you . . . what we might all do together before school starts back . . . We talked about . . . moving back to Tybee.”

Peyton’s mother lowered her hand from his face and was no longer looking at him but staring instead at some distant point in space, as if she were replaying a memory to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. “While we were talking . . . he leaned his head back against his rocking chair . . . and closed his eyes. I watched him smile into the sun . . . and I remember thinking . . . that there’s never been . . . a more beautiful face in the world . . . But then . . . I saw him turn his head just slightly . . . and he frowned . . . like he was trying . . . very hard to hear what somebody was saying to him. And then . . . then he relaxed and smiled again. He was nodding, as if he were . . . answering a voice I couldn’t hear . . . He raised his hand to his head, looked at me, and said . . . ‘I have to go now, Hoppy.’ And then . . . then his head slumped over . . . as if he had dozed off . . . He looked so peaceful . . . like every care he’d ever had . . . suddenly got lifted away . . . all at one time. But he never woke up.”