her father. Maybe because children attach memory to objects better than adults do.
Gerald once told her, “You can have it whenever you want.”
I remember feeling relieved. We still had people. We still had pieces of Nathaniel.
That seemed like enough. At least then.
SOMETHING IN GERALD’S FACE
The party looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine. Lights strung over the patio. The pool glowing blue. People from the office in clothes I’d never choose for an afternoon with a four-year-old.
Lily wore a yellow dress with a faint grass stain near the hem. The second we came through the gate, she spotted Gerald and ran.
“Lily!”
She darted around two guests before I could catch her. Gerald intercepted her first, lifting her into his arms. “Got you.”
She laughed. I hurried over.
“Gerald, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“She’s running around your guests.”
“She’s four.” He shifted her
