When they reached the house, they found Bill waiting in the front yard. He came across the lawn to them.
“I woke up and no one’s in the house,” he said. He looked at the two of them, his eyes taking them in from head to toe. He looked like-he looked like he wanted to reach out and hug them. “What the hell is going on? Are you hurt?”
“No, Dad, we’re not hurt.” She almost smiled seeing the concern on his face and in his body language. “It’s a long story. Let’s go inside.”
The three of them sat at the kitchen table while Janet told them about Michael’s confession in the woods. Her father didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask questions or show emotion. When Janet was finished, he stood up from the table, acting as though he wanted to go to bed.
“Dad?” Janet said. “Don’t you want to talk about this more? Do you have anything to say?”
He hesitated, then said, “No, I don’t think I do. I guess I hope they both go to jail, Ray and Michael.”
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know what they’ll do to Michael.”
He turned to go, but before he left the room, Ashleigh said, “Wait!”
Her dad stopped in the doorway and turned around.
Janet looked at Ashleigh. “What’s wrong?”
Ashleigh jumped up from the table. “I have something-something for both of you to see. A surprise, I guess.”
“In the middle of the night?” Janet asked. “In the middle of all this?”
“Just wait.”
Ashleigh ran up the stairs, her steps making muffled thumps. Janet sat at the kitchen table, staring at the familiar space, staring at her father. It still felt like home. He had been right: some things, some feelings never changed. Our knowledge about them changed, but not the fundamental feelings. She was home. She and Ashleigh and her dad. Home.
Ashleigh was carrying a familiar box as she entered the kitchen. Janet recognized it right away, even as her tears formed. “Where did you-? How did you-?”
“I knew you’d want it,” Ashleigh said. “I saved it from the trash the day Grandpa threw it out.”
Janet looked at her dad, who still didn’t speak.
Ashleigh said, “I figured you really didn’t mean it, Grandpa. You were probably just pissed off or something.”
Janet flipped open the top of the box. She reached in and took handfuls of pictures. Justin. Her mom. All of them as a family. Before it all changed. Before.
But some of it was still there. And not just in pictures.
Janet took one out of the stack. It showed the four of them the year before Justin died. They looked happy in the photographer’s studio. They looked like a family.
Janet held it up.
“Remember this one, Dad? Remember going there that day? We tried to get Justin to wear that little bow tie, and he kept taking it off.”
Her dad came forward, took the photo out of her hand. He studied it a long time before one side of his mouth raised, the tiniest hint of a grin.
“I remember,” he said. “I remember.”
