“I thought we could eat in here,” Ezra says as we approach the dance hall. “It’s my favorite building.” He unlocks the door and pulls it open for me. “I’ll go grab the food and meet you inside.”

The dance hall is a tall, round building with windows running the entire length of it looking out at the lake. I’ve never been in it before. It was used for grown-up events, and I was never grown-up enough to go. Stepping inside is actually exhilarating. I imagined my mother and father in here dancing on so many occasions that it’s quite exciting to finally be inside.

A set of wide, red-carpeted stairs leads up to the main level. I could so easily visualize the men and women, all dressed in their best, making their way up these stairs for a night of drinking and dancing.

At the top of the stairs is a long hallway with doors leading off it. Two are marked WASHROOM, one is marked OFFICE, and one is marked DRESSING ROOM. At the end of the hallway is a collection of framed photos. They’re of guests in the dance hall—some individual shots, some groups shots—as well as the live bands that came to play here.

I find one of my mother, which surprises me—although it shouldn’t, considering what a regular she was here. She’s sitting at a table, holding a drink up to the camera, smiling wide, her teeth white against the bright red of her lips, her cheeks flushed, her tanned shoulders revealed in a strapless sundress. Suzanne Swann is sitting beside her, giving the camera a reserved smile, looking almost dowdy next to my beautiful mother. Mr. Swann sits on the other side of my mother, not beside his own wife. He smiles up at the camera as well, his hand on the back of my mother’s chair.

I take my phone out of my purse and snap a picture of the photo, then move along to study some more. There’s another one featuring my very photogenic mother. She’s in the arms of a man—who’s not my father—on the dance hall. She has one hand on the man’s shoulder and is using the other to blow a kiss at the camera, her lips puckered, her eyes bright.

“Whatcha looking at?” Ezra calls out as he makes his way toward me.

“Nothing,” I call back. Moving away from the photos, I trail my hand along the wood-paneled wall, enjoying the way the thump of my fingers against the grooves echoes through the quiet emptiness.