She won’t respond well if I tell her that I stayed up last night reading about childhood memories—how we forget them. And how we get them back. They often come from returning to a place and then being allowed to experience it in the same way you experienced it the first time. That is what we are doing here. We are following her instinct. We are tapping into her memory that she’s been here before. And my instinct, from the minute I realized where Grady Bradford came from, that we should.

“There are things your father hasn’t told us beyond what’s going on at The Shop,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out what they are.”

“That sounds pretty general,” she says.

“It’ll get less general the more you remember,” I say.

“So… this is on me, then?”

“No, it’s on me. If I was wrong to take you here, I’ll be the first to say it.”

She gets quiet.

“Look, will you just come inside? Can you do that?” I say. “We’ve come this far.”

“Do I have a choice?” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “Always. With me you always do.”

I can see it flash across her face—her surprise that I mean it. And I do mean it. We are a hundred feet from the closest stadium entrance, GATE 2, but it is up to Bailey. If she wants to turn around, I won’t stop her. Maybe this frees her to keep going, because that’s what she does.

She walks up to the gate, which feels like a victory. A second victory: a stadium tour group seems to be congregating and we are able to latch on to them, walking past security without so much as a look from the distracted student manning the desk.

“Welcome to DKR,” the tour guide says. “I’m Elliot, I’ll be taking you around today. Follow me!”

He leads the group into the end zone and gives everyone a second to take in the stadium, which is epic. There is seating for more than a hundred thousand fans, TEXAS spelled out large on one end of the field, LONGHORNS on the other. It is so large—so imposing—that it feels like the kind of place you might remember, you might hold on to, especially at an early age.

Elliot starts walking the group through what happens on game night—how a cannon is fired after each touchdown, how Bevo, the mascot, is an actual steer bull and how there are a group of Texas cowboys who march him around the field, who tend to him.

As he finishes his spiel and starts to lead everyone up to the press box, I motion for Bailey to hang back, and we head to the bleachers.