fter the doctor’s appointment, as we’re heading across the parking lot, Daniel says, “I could go for some ice cream right about now. How about you?”

“Yippee!” Bobby squeals, bouncing with each step.

“Ice cream sounds good,” I say, trying not to smile. It is the first time I’ve felt welcomed by Daniel, included.

Beyond the parking lot is a lovely tree-lined street with small, well-tended houses on either side. The yards are full of color, even on this chilly December day—bright green grass, yellow bushes, blue-green kale in terra cotta pots. Ornamental cherry trees line the sidewalk, and though the limbs are bare now, it’s easy to imagine them awash in pink blossoms. Come spring, this street must look like a parade route with the air full of floating pink confetti.

As we reach the corner, we merge into the crowd out Christmas shopping on this sunny day. All around us, people are talking to one another. Every person we pass calls out a greeting to Daniel and Bobby.

We duck into a cute little ice-cream shop that proudly offers seven flavors. Behind the counter, a television is playing. On it, Jimmy Stewart is running down the snowy streets of Bedford Falls. The girl serving ice cream—a pretty teenager with a pierced nose and jet black hair—smiles at us. “Hey, Bobby. You want your regular?”

Bobby grins. “You bet. Double scoop.”

The girl looks at Daniel. Her blush and stammer reminds me how good-looking he is. Even a teenage girl notices. “I’ll have a pralines and cream,” he says in that velvet brogue that makes the girl smile.

I am just about to order a single scoop of cookie dough ice cream on a sugar cone when a picture of a crashed plane fills the television. On-screen, a local broadcaster is standing in front of the charred wreckage, saying, “... plane crashed in the woods northeast of here. Survivors have been airlifted to several local hospitals for treatment. Authorities are in the process of identifying survivors and contacting family members. All of the named passengers on the manifest have been accounted for.”

Thank God. Everyone survived.

“However, witnesses report that an unidentified woman bought a last-minute ticket on the flight...”

Panic seizes hold of me. They’re trying to find me. Without thinking, I mumble, “excuse me,” and push past Daniel and Bobby. I can’t get out of here fast enough.

Outside, I collapse onto a park bench and lean back. My heart is beating a mile a minute.

I look up just in time to see Daniel and Bobby come out of the ice-cream shop. Both are frowning.

“Are you okay?” Bobby asks me.

I can see it in his eyes, the fear and worry. He is a boy who knows how life can turn on a dime, how people can be there one day and gone the next.

“I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not. I’m not even in fine’s neighborhood.

They’re searching for me.

What do I do now? How much longer do I have in anonymity?

My purse. They could find my purse.

“What is it?” Daniel asks, looking down at us.

I’m panicked and shaky. I want to say I can’t go back, but the words would make no sense to him. When I look up, I catch Daniel’s gaze and lose my place. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes my heart speed up.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

His concern touches a place deep inside me. I have been alone—lonely—for too long. Apparently the slimmest strand of caring surprises me. I am stunned by how much I suddenly want to stay here. And yet, now I know that the clock is ticking. Once they discover my name, I will have to return home.

“I’m fine. Really.”

I get to my feet, feeling unsteady. Bobby sidles up close to me.

Together, the three of us walk down the crowded street. The decorated windows catch my attention, give me something to think about beside the news story. Occasionally, we go into stores, and when we do, we are welcomed. People look at us and smile and wish us a Merry Christmas. Dozens of knickknacks and souvenirs tempt me; an ornament made of Mount St. Helens’ ash, a wind chime made of copper and shells, a T-shirt that reads: “Wet and wild in the rainforest,” but I don’t have any money with me. I make a mental note to come back to some of these shops on my way out of town. I’ll want to add plenty of brochures and flyers and maps to my file cabinets back home.

Back home.

I push the thought aside and focus on enjoying the day.

We stroll pass a diner with a Christmas painting on the window, then a frame shop.

Bobby stops dead.

I glance down at him. “Bobby?”

He’s staring at the building to our right. It’s a gorgeous stone church with stained glass windows, a big oak door, and a nativity scene in the yard.

Daniel looks down at his son. “We could go in and light a candle for your mum.”

Bobby shakes his head, juts out his chin in a telling way. He isn’t going to move.

“Maybe Christmas Eve,” Daniel says gently, taking hold of his son’s hand.

For the next half hour, we window-shop on Main Street, and then Daniel buys a bucket of fried chicken and we sit at a picnic table in the park to eat. Bobby sets out a paper plate, napkins, and a fork for me, but to be honest, I’m not hungry. The news story has ruined my appetite. Apparently I’m not the only one who has been upset by our little trip to town.

“So, Bobby,” Daniel finally says, snapping open a Coke. “You want to talk about it?”

Bobby stares down at his plate. “Talk about what?”

“You being mad at God.”

He shrugs.

Daniel studies his son. In that one look, I see a world of emotion; a man who knows how to love. “I’d take you, you know.”

Bobby looks up at his dad, then at me. “I need Joy.”

“We all could go to church,” I say quickly, but it’s too late. The damage has been done. Bobby has chosen me over his father again. I have to do something fast to change the mood. Somehow, I have to get these two to remember who they are to each other and what they have left. Sometimes that’s all that matters: what remains. “Tell me about the time you and your dad went to the carnival.”

“The time he le-let me keep the change?” Bobby asks.

I nod. “That time.”

Bobby glances at his dad. “You remember that, Daddy? When we went to the carnival?”

That’s all it takes—a word from Bobby—and Daniel’s face changes. His smile takes my breath away. “Aye. At the county fair, it was. I’m surprised you remember that.”

“You carried me on your shoulders.”

“You spilled juice in my hair.”

Bobby giggles at that. “Mommy said you looked like an alien with purple on your face.”

Daniel’s gaze is as soft as velvet, yet it hits me hard. I’ve never seen a man who looks at his son with such unabashed love. Once Bobby sees that, he’ll know he’s safe in this world. “You were too little to get on the bumper cars.”

“You said they were a dumb ride anyway.”

“Aye. And so they were.”

For the rest of the meal, they trade memories and stories. By the time we head back to the truck, they are smiling at each other.

On the way home, we listen to the radio. It’s Randy Travis’s whiskey-velvet voice singing “I’m Gonna Love You Forever and Ever.” As the words float through the cab, I find myself looking at Daniel.

When we get back to the lodge, it’s almost seven o’clock. Bobby immediately runs to the television and puts a DVD in the machine. He’s chosen The Santa Clause.

I start for my room.

“Where you going, Joy?” Bobby says.

“You and your dad need some time together. I’ll see you to...”

“No.” He turns to Daniel. “Tell her, Daddy. Invite her to watch the movie with us.”

I draw in a breath, waiting. I know he will release me and keep Bobby to himself. It’s not even the wrong thing to do.

“Please,” Daniel says softly, smiling my way. “Stay with us.”

It isn’t until then, when I hear his velvety brogue wrap around those three small words, that I realize how much I wanted Daniel to ask me to stay.

“Sure,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as desperate as I feel.

Daniel and Bobby sit on the couch together. I curl into the red chair, opposite them.

As I sit here, listening to Bobby’s laughter, I consider how quiet my own house has become. If I’m to be honest—and why would I lie now?—our house was quiet long before Thom left me. Before he started sleeping with my sister. When I look back on my marriage, the truth is that it was too quiet from the beginning.

On that last night in Bakersfield, Stacey was right. My marriage had been falling apart long before she came into the picture. It’s a truth I can finally admit.

“He’s getting fat ’cuz he’s Santa!” Bobby yells, bouncing in his seat.

His happiness is infectious; in no time, Daniel and I are laughing with him.

When the movie is over and Daniel says, “Time for bed, boyo,” and Bobby grumbles and whines that he’s not tired—even though he can’t keep his eyes open—I am sorry to see the evening end, sorry to face the prospect of going back to my room.

Daniel picks Bobby up and carries him toward the stairs.

“ ’Night, Joy,” Bobby calls out sleepily. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Bobby.”

I mean to get up and go to my room. I really do, but somehow I don’t move. I sit there, curled like a cat in the chair, staring at the fire. The family photographs on the mantel seize my attention. I go to the mantel, pick up the pictures, and pour over them like an archeologist looking for clues from the artifacts of a life. Who was Maggie? Why did their marriage end?

Later, when I hear Daniel’s footsteps on the stairs, I realize I’ve been waiting for him.

He comes into the room, stands in front of the fire. In the combination of orange light and dark shadows, he looks drawn and tired. We are close enough that a movement either way and we’d be touching. “I promised Bobby I’d come back down. I’m supposed to talk to you, don’t you know?”

“I’m glad,” I dare to answer.

“I’m not much of a talker these days.” His voice is so soft I have to lean toward him to hear. “The funny thing is, I used to be a real loudmouth, back in the pubs in Dublin, when I was a lad. I could talk till I was blue in the face and falling-down drunk.”

“It’s funny how things slip away, pieces of us, even.”

Daniel sighs. Nodding, he reaches for the single photograph left on the mantel, tucked now behind the Christmas village, and holds it close. It’s a picture of Maggie, looking young and vibrant and beautiful.

I have no idea what to say or do. He looks so raw right now, so utterly broken, that I’m afraid to speak.

He puts the photograph back and sits down on the hearth. “So, Joy.” He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “Maybe you could help me, too. It seems I was a bad father and a worse husband. I didn’t even think about putting up a Christmas tree. All I thought about was getting Bobby out of this place where the memories are so bad.”

“Moving won’t put his heart back together.” This is a truth I know; I learned it firsthand. I sit in the chair opposite him and lean forward. In a daring that’s completely foreign to me, I touch his thigh. “He needs you for that.”

A frown darts across his forehead. “What the hell...”

I draw back, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry.”

He gets to his feet. “The doc said I should talk to you, for Bobby, but...”

I get up and go to him, unable to stop myself.

We’re close now, almost face to face. I feel the softness of his breathing, smell the hint of wood smoke scent that clings to his T-shirt. “Daniel?”

“I feel like a bloody fool. How in the hell am I supposed to talk to you?”

I step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

What? Touched him? Said anything? Come here in the first place? I have no idea what to say to him, what I did that was so wrong.

He turns away from me and goes to the fireplace. When he’s put out the fire, he goes about the business of closing up the lobby for the night, locking the doors and drawing the curtains shut, until the lobby is jet black. He disappears down the hallway, then returns.

I wait for him to look at me, and try to figure out what I’ll say when he does. How I’ll explain being an idiot for a second, a woman caught and blinded by her own needs. I try to make out his face in the dark. Is he smiling? Frowning? I can’t tell.

When everything is dark and quiet he goes toward the stairs. I can hear his hushed footsteps on the carpet and the cadence of his breathing. I wait for him to pause on the stairs, to say something, but in this I am disappointed. He makes his way up the stairs; later, I hear a door open and close, and then I am left alone, standing by the fire, staring at the photographs of another woman’s family.

* * *

The plane is going down.

“It’s burning... don’t touch...”

“Run!”

Too late.

I’m in the air, tumbling, screaming... we’re going down...

I wake up, screaming in the dark of my room. My chest is crushed, my face smashed. I can’t make my legs move.

I’m paralyzed.

No. I’m dreaming.

I touch my chest, press the skin until I can feel my heart beating. It’s fast but steady.

“You’re fine.” The sound of my voice calms me, coming as it does from the darkness of my room. On shaking, weak legs, I walk to the window, push it open. The pine-scented air caresses my cheeks, grounds me instantly.

I’m here. Alive.

Tiny raindrops flutter on my face and the windowsill, cooling my skin. Gradually, I feel myself calming down.

The images fade, slink back into my subconscious.

I stand there, watching the shiny combination of rain and moonlight until my hands stop shaking and I can breathe evenly again.

I hear footsteps upstairs, pacing. Someone else can’t sleep.

Daniel.

I wish I could go to him, say simply, “I can’t sleep, either.”

Instead, I turn away from the window and return to my thin, empty bed.

* * *

Mist, as translucent and flimsy as a layer of silk organza, floats across my window, blurring the forest beyond. Everything is obscured by the haze; two-hundred-foot trees appear strangely fragile. Even time seems elastic; the days and nights are passing with near impossible speed. I know that it is because I want time to slow down that it is speeding up.

This morning, as I stand at my window and look across the yard, I see shadows moving in and out among the trees. It doesn’t surprise me that Bobby sees his mother in all this softness. There is an otherworldliness to the forest here. I also know how easy it is to see what you want to see.

For almost the entire year before Thom betrayed and left me, I knew he was unhappy. I was unhappy. But we did what people do—we closed our eyes and thought it meant we didn’t see.

I knew he was talking to Stacey about our troubles.

If I’d looked instead of merely seen, I wouldn’t have been so surprised by how it ended.

This is my resolution for the New Year. I will be honest with myself. I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll see what’s there, not just what I want to see.

After my shower, I redress in my old clothes and get my camera.

The lobby is quiet, steeped in tea-colored shadows.

I walk past the cold dark fireplace.

Daniel’s truck is gone. No wonder the place is so quiet.

Peaceful.

That’s what the quiet is here. Unlike in my home, where for the last year the silence has been like the indrawn breath before a scream.

The quiet and the mist draw me outside. I stand in the yard and stare at the silvery lake beyond. Through the haze, the dock looks almost translucent, a charcoal line against the gray-tipped waves.

I need a photograph of this. Maybe several.

I lift the camera to my face and work to put a blurry world into focus. It’s not until I’ve taken several shots that I realize how cold I am. Disappointed, I return to the warmth of the house. But I feel the need to walk in that pearlescent mist.

I could borrow a coat.

Why not? I checked myself in; I eat their food. I’m certainly making myself at home. Besides, they’re gone. I’m sure neither would begrudge me the use of a jacket for an hour or two.

It takes some searching, but I finally find a coat closet near the back door. In it is a jumble of coats and sweaters and yellow slickers. I pull out a bulky, beautifully knit aqua-blue fisherman’s sweater and slip it on. It’s huge on me, but warm.

For the rest of the day, I explore this magnificent corner of paradise and take seventeen photographs—of the sunlight on the lake, of a swan taking flight, of a spiderweb turned into a necklace by dew drops. By mid-afternoon, I have begun to imagine how I will frame these prints and display them.

In my living room, I think, above the sofa. Every day of my real life, I will look up and remember this adventure. Finally, at around two o’clock, hunger sends me back inside.

I am just finishing a sandwich when I hear the truck drive up. Quickly I clean up my mess and run to the living room to greet them. It’s silly, I know, perhaps even stupid, but I don’t care. I’ve missed them today.

Bobby rushes in. “Joy!”

I love the way he says my name; it’s as if he’s been missing me all day. “Hey, Bobby,” I say, looking behind him for Daniel, who comes in a moment later, looking so handsome that I catch my breath.

Bobby runs at me. “It’s beach night.”

“We need to leave in about fifteen minutes,” Daniel says. “So you’d best hurry up.”

He is looking at me. A shiver runs up my spine. “I’m invited?”

Bobby giggles. “’Course.”

“Get a coat,” Daniel says to both of us. “It’s cold out there.”

I decide to move fast, just in case Daniel wants to change his mind. Feeling like a girl on her first date, I run back to my room and retrieve the big cable knit sweater. It’s certain to be warm enough.

In two minutes, I’m back in the lobby with Bobby.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Daniel asks his son.

We both answer, “Yes,” at the same time.

At the sound of our laughter, Daniel smiles, and I am blown away by the sight of it. It takes ten years off his face and gives me a glimpse of the hell-raiser of the Dublin pubs. “Come on, then.” He slings a backpack over his shoulder and leaves the house. Bobby and I follow along behind him, still laughing. It is the freest I’ve felt in years, and I wonder what it is about this place and these people. Here, with them, I become so easily the younger version of myself, the me I always imagined growing into. I’m more like my mother—free, loving, easygoing. In the dry, dusty town of Bakersfield I’d been a flower slowly dying; in the moisture and mist of this green cathedral, I can feel myself blossoming.

In the truck, we turn up the radio and sing along to Bruce Springsteen. “Baby, I was born to run” are suddenly the most meaningful words I’ve ever sung. By the time the song is finished, we are on an old, winding, two-lane highway. For miles, we are surrounded by trees, then we come to the harvested part of this great forest. Acres of shorn land lie on either side of the road. All that’s left are tiny new plantings and signs that talk of reforestation and regeneration.

“It’s sad,” I say. “As if new trees are no different than old ones.”

Bobby tilts his face to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“You live in one of the few old growth forests left on the planet. Cutting down trees that have lived for two hundred years is a crime.”

“Will they go to jail?” he asks.

“Who?” Daniel says, hitting his turn signal and easing to a stop.

“The loggers who cut down the old trees.”

“Oh. No,” Daniel answers, frowning as he turns onto another road.

“It’s not literally a crime,” I say. “It’s just sad.”

“When I’m big, I’m gonna protect the old trees,” Bobby says, nodding as if it’s a stern, implacable decision.

“What started this conversation?” Daniel asks.

I’m about to answer when we turn a corner and park.

There it is, in front of us: the Pacific Ocean.

The huge, roaring expanse of blue water and gray sky is nothing like my familiar Southern California coastline, with its powdery sand and rolling surf and volleyball nets placed every one hundred yards or so.

Here, the beach is as wild as the forest, as primitive, too. Waves crash onto the shore, sounding like a lion’s roar, even from the distance of our car.

“Wow,” I say, sitting back.

“Dad’s never done beach night before either,” Bobby says. “Mommy and me did it every Tuesday night, after t-ball.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Daniel says. I can’t tell if it’s wistfulness in his voice or regret, or if he’s missing his ex-wife. “How about your Joy? Is she a beach gal?”

Bobby turns to me. “Well?”

“I love the beach,” I answer, looking at Daniel’s profile.

“I knew it,” Bobby says, bouncing in his seat. “She loves the beach.”

I feel lit up inside. I don’t know how else to put it. Daniel grabs his backpack and helps Bobby out of the car. The boy immediately runs on ahead, across the sand.

“Not too close to the water, boyo,” Daniel calls out.

I slip into place beside him.

The beach is beautiful. A full, fiery sun hangs in the teal blue sky. Golden streamers light the waves. I have never seen so much driftwood on a beach before, and it is no ordinary collection of sticks. It is a heaping, jumbled mass of silvery logs, shorn of branches and polished to white perfection. Many of them are more than one hundred feet in length. The trees along the road have been sculpted by the wind. They look like giant bonsai.

“Dad, my kite!” Bobby yells, running back at us.

“Just a second,” Daniel answers, bending down to make a fire. Within moments, the small circle of wood and newspaper is aflame. I sit on a log by the fire, watching Daniel teach his son to fly a kite. By the time Bobby gets it, the afternoon is fading. Neon orange clouds streak across a midnight blue sky.

“Look, Dad! Look, Joy! I’m flyin’ it!”

“That you are. Run faster,” Daniel says, laughing as he sits down beside me. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of him beside me.

“I wish I’d brought my camera,” I say.

Bobby runs toward us, dragging the kite behind him. It flaps against the heavy sand. “Didja see me?”

“I did,” I say. “It’s the best kite flying I’ve ever seen.”

His smile is so bright it lights his dark eyes. He flops to sit on the sand beside us. Gradually, though, his smile fades.

Silence falls, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the whooshing of the waves.

“Have you got something on your mind, boyo?” Daniel asks.

Bobby kicks at the sand before he finally looks up. “How will we have beach night in Boston?”

“Ah. So that’s what you’re thinking about. Moving.”

Bobby glances quickly at me. I nod encouragingly. He takes a deep breath and says: “I want to stay here, Dad.”

“I know you do, Bobby.”

“You were the one who picked it.”

“Aye. Things were different then.”

At that, the reminder of how their lives have changed, they fall silent. After a long pause, Bobby says, “Tell Joy how you found this place.”

Daniel’s sigh threads the night, falls toward me. I’m pretty certain it’s a story he doesn’t want to tell. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his thighs. Shadows and firelight mark his face. “We were livin’ in Boston, in a house not two doors down from Nana and Papa. Your mom managed the makeup counter at Macy’s and I spent my days—and too many nights—on the thirtieth floor of the Beekman Building. I used to dream of towering trees and lakes that were full of fish. Mostly I dreamed of us being together all the time, instead of all going our separate ways. One day I read about this summer house for sale in Washington State. It was a bed and breakfast that had gone bankrupt.”

“And we bought it. Just like that,” Bobby says, “Without seeing it even.”

“Aye,” Daniel says, and this time I’m sure it’s wistfulness I hear in his voice. “We had our dreams, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.”

In the silence that follows, I know they’re thinking about how far apart they are. All I can see is how close they’ve become. It will only take the merest move by either one of them to find the middle ground.

I twist around to face Daniel. We are so close now. I can see the tiny grains of sand and bits of ash that cling to his skin and hair. His green eyes look at me with an unnerving intensity. Behind me, I know Bobby is watching us. “I can see why you fell in love with this place. It’s magical.”

“That’s what Mommy always said.” I can hear the sadness in Bobby’s voice. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Why do we have to move?”

Daniel looks down at his hands, as if he’ll find the answer in his flesh and bone. “I want the best for you, Bobby.”

“This is the best.”

Daniel looks at his son. “How am I supposed to run this place all by myself? I don’t know anything about fishin’ or such.”

This is a question I can answer. “There are dozens of books that can teach you. I’ve read a lot of them. If you take me to the local library, I’ll help you find them.”

“Mommy tole me you were smart,” Bobby says accusingly.

Daniel smiles at that. “I like to think so.”

“Then learn,” Bobby says.

“I’ll tell you what,” Daniel says finally. “I’ll think about staying if you’ll think about leaving.”

They look at each other, father and son, and in the fading sunlight and firelight, I am struck by how alike they are.

“Okay,” Bobby says solemnly.

“Okay,” Daniel agrees. “Now, how about some hot dogs and marshmallows before the sun leaves us for good?”

For the next hour, as the sun slowly drops from the sky and the stars creep into the night, we roast hot dogs and make smores and walk along the darkened waterline. I am too full from my late lunch to eat anything, but a lack of appetite doesn’t keep me from enjoying the fire. A battery-operated radio, perched on a log behind the fire, cranks out one pretty song after another. Often, we sing along. Daniel’s voice is pure and true and sometimes renders me voiceless. We are packed up and ready to leave when a beautiful rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight” starts.

By the way Daniel sings along, the harshness of his voice, I know the song means something to him.

“You used to sing this song,” Bobby says.

“Aye.”

“Dance with Joy.”

I catch my breath, surprised.

“I don’t think so,” Daniel says, careful not to look at me.

“Pleeease,” Bobby says, looking at us. “For me?”

I am in the darkness just beyond the dying fire’s glow. Daniel is across from me. His face is all shadows and orange light. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s not smiling.

“She’s right there, Daddy,” Bobby says, pointing at me. I know it’s not dark enough here to cloak me. I start to say, “No, that’s okay,” but my words grind to a halt.

Daniel is moving toward me, his hand outstretched.

I take his hand and move into the circle of his arms. The warmth of his touch makes me sigh; it is a sound I try to take back. In this darkness, it is too loud, too breathy.

We move together awkwardly; I wonder if it has been as long for him as it has for me. “I was never much of a dancer,” I say by way of explanation. This is an understatement. Thom flat out refused to dance.

I can feel Daniel’s gaze on me. “I can’t see your feet, but I’ll wager I’m steppin’ on ’em,” he says with a nervous laugh.

I feel young in his arms, and safe. We find a rhythm easily, and move together as if we’ve danced for years.

Overhead and to our right, a star tumbles through the sky in a streak of white. “Make a wish,” he whispers.

My answer is you, but that’s ridiculous. I don’t think I could stand it if he laughed at me now, so I say, “I want to start over.”

The music ends and Daniel releases me. It’s all I can do not to reach for him. I know I will think about this moment, his touch, all night.

Behind us, Bobby flicks off the radio, plunges us all into the real world again. Now there is only the roar of the surf and the crackling of the fire. “I know my wish, Dad. What’s yours?”

It’s a long time before Daniel answers. When he does, he’s looking at me. “Starting over would be nice.”

I stare at Daniel, unable to look away, unable to stop thinking what if?

What if I could fall in love again and start my life over? What if I could belong here?

“Well, let’s get going,” he says at last. “We’ve lost our light.”

At that, I think: Have we? Have we lost our light, or have we perhaps just glimpsed it for the first time? All I know is that, when I climb into the truck with this man and his son, I’m smiling.

Suddenly, I know what I have been waiting for all these years, why I’ve been collecting brochures and books and snapping pictures of other places.

I’ve been wanting to start over, dreaming of it.

And now, finally, I know where I want to be when I begin this new part of my life.

All that night, as I lie in my bed, I think of Daniel. Over and over in my mind, I replay our dancing. The way he looked at me, held me, whispered, “Make a wish.” As the night rolls toward dawn, it takes on the shiny patina of myth.

I am just waking up when I hear a noise.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Daniel. I can tell by the sound.

I throw my covers back and get out of bed. A quick run into my bathroom, and I’m dressed. Then, carefully, I peer out my door.

A light is on in the lobby.

I walk quietly down the carpeted hallway. In the lobby, I find no one. It takes me a second to notice that the door is open.

In the purple mist of early morning, I see him standing in the front yard. This time, I don’t even think about hanging back. I am starting over now; this is my new beginning.

I am almost beside him when I see Bobby out on the end of the dock. He is talking to the air. Even from this distance, I can see that he is crying and yelling.

Daniel makes a sound. In this foggy morning the sound is distorted, drawn out until it sounds like a sob.

I lay my hand on his arm. “I’m here,” I say.

He shivers at my touch, but doesn’t turn to look at me. “God... how long will this go on?”

The truth is forever and not long. “He’ll talk to her until he doesn’t need to anymore.”

We stand there, side by side. Out on the dock, Bobby is yelling for his mommy.

“He’ll be okay,” I say quietly. “He has a father who loves him. That would have made a difference to me. When my mom died, I mean. All I had was my sister.”

Suddenly I’m thinking about Mom’s funeral and how I’d fallen apart completely. Stacey was the glue that put me back together, held me together. She was my strength during Mom’s long illness.

Stacey.

For the first time, I don’t wince at the thought of her. The memory doesn’t hurt: rather, it takes on the ache of longing. I have missed my sister; this is one of the many truths from which I’ve been running.

Bobby hurtles toward us.

Daniel immediately kneels. “I’m here, boyo.”

Bobby skids to a stop. His cheeks are wet with tears, his eyes are bloodshot. “She didn’t come. I yelled and yelled.”

“Oh, Bobby,” Daniel says, wiping his son’s tears. I can see him struggling for the right words of comfort. We both know that Bobby needs to let go of his imaginary mother, but the letting go will hurt.

Daniel pulls Bobby into his arms and holds him tightly, whispering words in a lilting, song-like language I don’t understand.

Bobby looks at him. “But I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Forgetting her,” Bobby says in a quiet, miserable way.

Daniel closes his eyes for a moment, and in this reaction I see how hurt he is by his son’s revelation. When he opens his eyes, I can see the sheen of tears. “I should have done this a long time ago,” he says.

“What?”

Daniel scoops Bobby into his arms and carries him into the house. “Wait here,” he says, depositing his son on the sofa. He runs up the stairs.

Bobby looks so small, sitting there on the sofa, with his glistening cheeks and missing front tooth. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks me.

I sit down on the hearth across from him. I don’t sit beside him because I want him to hear me. To listen. “Tell me about her.”

“Mommy?” His voice breaks, but I can see how a smile wants to start. I wonder how long he has waited for someone to ask.

“She liked pink. And she talked really fast.”

I smile at that. It reminds me of my own mom, who snorted when she laughed. Once, when I was little, she laughed so hard milk came out of her nose. It is a memory I thought I’d lost until just now. “My mom used to kiss my forehead to see if I had a fever. I loved that.”

“My mommy used to wear butterflies in her hair when she got dressed up.”

I lean forward. “You won’t forget her, Bobby. I promise.”

“You’ll leave me, too, won’t you? Just like her.”

The question—and the sad resignation in his voice—is hard to hear. I know I shouldn’t promise him anything—my life is in upheaval right now and the things I want may well exceed my grasp, but I can’t just sit here and say nothing. “I have another life in California.”

“You’ll say good-bye, right? You won’t just disappear.”

My life might be mixed up, but this vow is easy to make. I’d never leave without saying good-bye. “I promise.”

Daniel comes down the stairs, carrying a big brown photo album and a shoebox.

I stand, feeling shaky on my feet. This is a private moment. I don’t belong here. “I should go. I’ve...”

“Don’t go,” Bobby says. “Tell her, Daddy. Tell Joy to stay.”

“Please, Joy,” he says, pulling Bobby close against him. “Don’t go.”

It is the way he says please that traps me; that, and the knowledge that Bobby is fragile now. I cross around the makeshift coffee table and sit down next to Daniel.

“Make room for her, Dad.”

Daniels scoots toward his son.

“I have plenty of room,” I say.

Bobby looks up at his dad. “Joy says I’ll always remember things about Mommy. Like the butterfly clips she wore. And the way she gave me fish kisses at naptime.”

“Fish kisses,” Daniel says, his voice gruff. I know he’s remembering her now, too.

“She always got the words wrong in the Winnie-the-Pooh song.” Bobby’s voice is stronger now, less uncertain.

“Her nighttime prayers went on forever,” Daniel says, smiling now. “She blessed everyone she’d ever met.” He looks down at Bobby. “And she loved you, boyo.”

“You, too.”

“Aye.”

Daniel opens the photo album on his lap. There, in black and white is a series of pictures: a boy playing kick-the-can on dirty streets, and riding his rusty bike, and standing by a stone stacked fence, with a kite. The boy has jet black hair that needs a cut. Daniel.

There’s another shot of a dirty street and a pub called the Pig-and-Whistle.

“That’s Nana and Papa,” Bobby says, pointing to the couple standing at the pub’s wooden door. “They live in Boston now.”

“Still spend their time hanging around the pubs,” Daniel says, laughing as he turns the page.

Maggie.

Her face looks up at us, wreathed in bridal lace. She looks young and bright and gloriously happy. Her smile could light up Staples Center.

I can’t help thinking of my own wedding album, tucked deep in an upstairs bookcase, gathering the dust of lost years. I wonder if I’d even recognize my younger self, or would I look through the images of my own life like an archeologist, studying artifacts of an extinct race?

And what of Stacey? Can I really stay away from her wedding, her big moment? We have always been the witnesses of each other’s lives. Isn’t that what family is? Even broken and betrayed and bleeding, we are connected.

I push the thoughts aside and focus on the photographs in Daniel’s album.

The next few pages contain dozens of wedding shots. Daniel goes through them without comment; I hear his relieved sigh when he comes to the end of them.

“There’s me,” Bobby says, pointing at the first photo of a baby so tiny his face looks like a pink quarter.

“Aye. That’s the day we brought you home from the hospital.”

“But Mommy’s crying.”

“That’s because she loved you so much.”

From there on, as Daniel turns the pages, he talks, telling the story of their family in that musical brogue of his, and with every passing moment, every syllable that sounds like a song lyric, I can see them moving closer together, this boy with a broken heart and the man who loves him.

“That’s your first friend, your cousin Sean... your first birthday party... the day you said ‘Mama.’”

In time, I begin to notice that there are fewer pictures of him and none of him and Maggie. The whole album is Bobby.

I know how a thing like this happens. Not all at once, but day by day. You stop wanting to record every minute of an unhappy life. In Bakersfield, I have a drawer of similar albums, where the oldest versions are of Thom and me, and the newest ones are mostly scenery.

By the time Daniel reaches the last page, Bobby is asleep, tucked in close to his father. Daniel says softly, “Joy?”

At my name, whispered as it is in the quiet between us, he sighs and smiles.

“I’m here,” I say, waiting for more.

When he says nothing, I decide to be bold. I lean toward him, say, “Maybe you and I...” I don’t know how to finish, how to ask for what I want, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve gone too far, revealed too much. Daniel shakes his head and pulls away from me.

“I’m losing my mind,” he says without looking at me. Then, he gets up from the sofa and carries Bobby to the stairs.

What was I thinking to say “you and I” with the photographs of his lost wife between us?

As always, I am a master at timing.

Once again, I am alone.