June was looking directly at the camera, wearing her purple butterfly headband.

“Wow,” she said.

“He looks like he saw a ghost.”

“He’d just learned something very big,” I said.

Warren studied the photograph.

“I’d learned I’d already missed the most important person I hadn’t known existed.”

June rolled her eyes at the grandness of the statement but leaned against his shoulder anyway.

Later, after everyone left, I sat on the porch with my daughter and watched fireflies gather above the grass.