Derek had begun keeping a small notebook of their Thursday plans, not because Grace needed another record of his failures but because he had finally recognized the value of being dependable.

Sometimes they went to museums.

Sometimes they ate pizza and did homework at his apartment.

The activities weren’t impressive; they were consistent.

Before the doors opened, a volunteer photographer offered to take our picture beside the book tables.

Grace slipped her arm around my waist and leaned close.

“Mom,” she said, “look at me.”

I turned my face toward her.