Halfway to the truck, Emma began to cry again. The tears came silently at first, then in little gasps that seemed to surprise her. "Is she really not coming with us?" Daniel crouched beside her. "No," he said. "Not today. And I won't let her decide whether you can talk about Mom." Emma searched his face. "But you love her." He did not lie. "I thought I did. I cared about the person I believed she was. I have some hard things to sort out, but none of them are your job." Emma touched the star and looked toward the garden. "I didn't want her to be sad," she said. "I know. But adults are responsible for their own feelings. You are allowed to have yours."
They drove to Daniel's old house with the windows down because the air conditioner in his truck had stopped working. Emma sat between the birthday cake and a stack of unopened cards, holding the star pendant in her palm. Lauren followed in her car. At a red light, Daniel glanced over and saw his daughter studying his profile. "You can ask me anything," he told her. Emma looked away, then back. "Do you wish you never met Celeste?" Daniel considered the question. There were easy answers, and none of them would help her. "I wish I had listened when you were trying to tell me things," he said. "That's what I wish I could change." She nodded. He could see that the answer mattered, though he could not yet tell how.
The house smelled of dust, wood, and the faint lemon soap Hannah had once bought in bulk. There were sheets over the furniture, but electricity and water still worked. Daniel opened the windows while Lauren found plates and cleaned the kitchen table. Emma stood in the hallway looking at the pencil marks from the old height chart. Her fingertip settled on a line beside the number seven, written in Hannah's handwriting. "I'm taller now," she said. "A lot taller," Daniel replied. "Do you think she'd know me?" He felt the familiar ache in his chest. "She'd know your laugh," he answered. "And she'd want to hear about everything you've learned since she last saw you." Emma looked at the mark again. "I don't laugh the same," she said quietly. "Then she'd want to learn the new one."