It was the last gift he left us.
I dried a plate and let myself remember him standing right there, sweat on his brow, grinning as he told me the kids would love it.
« You built them a whole summer, » I had said to him back then.
It was the last gift he left us.
« I built us a memory, » he had answered.
Now those memories rippled across the water every single day.
My youngest waved at me, and I waved back.
For a moment, everything felt whole again.
Grief and joy could live in the same backyard, I had learned.
Then my eyes drifted toward the fence line, toward Katherine’s house next door.
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