Over the next week, the tapes changed the rhythm of the house.

I listened in the mornings before the realtor called and again at night when the street grew quiet.

Dad had recorded some in the hospital, his breath uneven but his humor stubborn.

Others were made at the kitchen table while trains sounded in the distance.

On one he had stopped halfway through to tell Daniel not to feed his sandwich to the dog.

On another Mom had laughed from the next room and told him to stop giving advice as if he were a wise old philosopher.