light through the blinds. For the first time in three years, he let himself remember Hannah's laugh without trying to stop the tears. He remembered her saying, You're the witness. Don't let me forget.
He took the necklace to a jeweler, had the clasp replaced, and asked for the silver to be cleaned gently enough to preserve the scratches. Then he placed it back in the original box. He did not tell Celeste. It was not that he expected her to object; or at least, that was what he told himself. He wanted the moment to belong to Emma and Hannah, untouched by guest lists, announcements, or instructions about what looked appropriate. He also wrote ten small paper stars, each with a clue from a memory he and Emma shared, and hid them in his truck. He would make the treasure hunt happen, even if they had to do it after the last guest left.
On the morning of the party, Emma stood in her room while Celeste adjusted the sleeves of her multicolored dress. The garden below was filling with white rental chairs, wrapped gifts, and arrangements of pink flowers. Emma asked whether her father would be able to take her on a bicycle ride before dinner. Celeste said that depended on whether she behaved like a proper young lady all afternoon. Then she noticed Emma holding a small framed photograph of Hannah. Her expression tightened. "We don't need that downstairs," she said. "Today's about the living, Emma. You know how sensitive your father gets."
"I just wanted Mom to see my dress," Emma answered.
Celeste stared at her for a moment, then softened her voice. "Listen to me. Your father is finally happy. You love him, don't you? Then help him stay that way. If you keep bringing up your mother in front of our guests, he'll start thinking this family isn't working. You don't want him to be alone again."
Emma nodded because she could not think of any answer that would keep everyone safe. She put the picture in her drawer. Downstairs, Daniel was checking the tires on her birthday bicycle, unaware that the most frightening thing his daughter had heard that morning was not a direct threat. It was the suggestion that she could break her father's happiness simply by remembering her mother.