My father stood up at the lake house dinner and raised his glass in fr…

smile was broad and bright. He looked like the father in every picture I had searched for myself and never found.

I sent Claire a photo of the bouquet I had delivered to her apartment.

Pale pink and white peonies.

Happy birthday, I wrote. I mean every word.

She replied, Thank you.

I sent back a small heart.

That was everything.

Nineteen days later, my mother continue reading …