“The shark is still anatomically questionable.” Chloe, overhearing us, shouted from the carpet, “It’s an imaginary shark, Daddy!”

Before dinner Chloe handed each person a folded paper star.

On mine she had written, Dad keeps promises.

On Camilla’s, You came back.

On Elena’s, Best pancakes.

Brooke’s read, Good hugs.

The children’s stars carried their own secret messages, which they guarded with solemn delight.

I kept my star in my pocket all evening.