And she had quietly refused to learn it, and kept the shovel, and been right.

“Can we build castles tomorrow, Grandma?” she asked.

And Marguerite made a sound that was half sob and half laugh, and pulled both of my children into her arms and held them as though she meant never to let go.

“Yes,” she wept into their hair.

“Yes, my darling.

As many castles as you want.

For the rest of our lives.”

Behind us, alone in the center of the bright room, Grayson stood forgotten — until his own father, in a voice like a closing door, ordered him to pack his things and be off the estate within the hour.