Tears blurred her vision, but she reread the letter anyway. Sniffed a few times, then studied the picture.

She’d been maybe four years old when this picture was taken at the home they’d shared. She wore a long-sleeved, long-skirted red-and-white dress she still vaguely remembered. The living room bookcase that held his record collection spanned the wall behind them. A small pile of gifts waited on the coffee table in the foreground. This hadn’t been snapped at Christmas, because the gifts were wrapped in shades of pink, yellow, and light blue. It had been taken on her birthday, then.

Dad had hoisted her onto his hip. He’d dressed his fit, rangy body in the type of clothing he’d always worn. Comfortable jeans and a lightweight plaid shirt, worn thin over time. He was grinning at her, and she was looking at the photographer, a wide and genuine smile creasing her face.

A lump formed in her throat. Thankfulness and loss swirled to the tips of her fingers.

The part of her life that his living, breathing presence had occupied would from now on remain vacant. Yet the part of her heart that had and did belong to him would always remain full.

“What in the world,” she whispered to her father, “have you hidden for me to find?”

You’re finally here!” Meadow called as Finley approached her friend Bridget’s front door. Meadow pulled Finley inside the condo. As always, Meadow was the more exuberant of the two. Bridget waited serenely in her foyer, then gave Finley a hug.

Both her friends were wearing cardboard crowns that spelled out Happy Birthday! Meadow slipped one into Finley’s hair, then they both exclaimed “Happy Birthday!” and blew noisemakers, unfurling them into Finley’s face with a honking noise.

“Thank you.” Her birthday morning had been important and emotional but also serious. It felt like a vacation to come here, to this condo she knew so well, to the company of her best friends.

“Ready for a day of celebration?” Bridget asked.

“Ready,” Finley answered.

“I printed out our itinerary.” Bridget handed them both papers.

Bridget and Meadow had planned lunch at a winery, followed by a visit to the spa, where they’d each splurge on two treatments. Then back here for dinner, a movie, and cake. Finley knew what had motivated her friends to book such a long day of activities: They didn’t want her spending the bulk of her birthday alone now that her father was gone.

“We’re running eleven minutes early,” Bridget said. “Come in, sit down, and tell us all about your new employee.”

Meadow guided her into the living room the way a sheepdog guides a sheep.