But I was raised, apparently by no one who counted, to know the size of the thing a person does when they risk their whole living to open a door for a family that isn’t even theirs.

A breeze comes up off the water and lifts the pages of Willa’s notebook, and she looks up at me with her father’s dark eyes and none of his weather in them.

“Mom,” she says, “can we drive down to campus this weekend?

I want to see the dorms.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” I tell her, and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Whenever you’re ready.”