Mr. Crook held the front door for Joanna and her mom at the end of the evening, and they heard the click of the locks after he assured Joanna he would take good care of “Mr. Larson” that Saturday night. Joanna thought it was odd that someone would have a name like that, but right there on the sign it said “Crook’s Funeral Home.” So Joanna and her mom held hands and walked home together in silence. The snow had started to melt, but a wind was blowing, and Joanna worried her dad might not be warm enough.

Her mother was not yet ready to sleep in the bed she had shared with her husband for the last sixteen years, and so she climbed in with Joanna in her little bed, and the two women held each other until they fell asleep.

That night Joanna dreamed she saw her father walking through a forest, wearing the same dark suit he had on now. He was walking down a path, and kept turning his head and calling to her. But he had to go somewhere, so he kept on walking fast, taking extra big strides. She chased him; sometimes he would disappear behind the trees and sometimes he would briefly reemerge, but he kept walking. She kept chasing him, because she could tell he was saying something important. Then he started pointing to the ground, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying because he was too far away. Suddenly she was right next to him. He had to be somewhere soon, so he wasn’t able to stop, but he turned to face her and said, “My feet are so cold; I don’t have any shoes on.” And sure enough, she could see his bare feet kicking up the snow as he walked down the path and around a bend and disappeared. Then she woke up. Since it was almost morning, she went into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water to make some oatmeal for herself and a cup of tea for her mother.

In a few minutes, her mother called to her from the bedroom. “Joanna, sweetheart, come here. I can’t start this day without a hug from you.”

Joanna was thinking about telling her mom about her dream when the whistle on the kettle blew. “I’ll get it, Mom.”

When they sat down to breakfast, Joanna broached the subject.

“Mom, is Dad wearing shoes? I mean, now, at Mr. Crook’s?”

“Yes, he is. Don’t worry; I took care of that with Uncle Jim yesterday.”

“But how do you know for sure?” Joanna wasn’t easily dissuaded, and she was always one to insist, particularly when she knew she was right.

“Your uncle brought a pair of dress shoes he had at home, and we gave them to Mr. Crook, with a pair of socks. So you see, it’s all been taken care of.”