Rebecca arranged everyone with small movements of her hand. Then she knocked.

I opened the door. “Daddy,” she said gently. “We need to talk as a family.”

“My family is resting in a churchyard next to Eleanor,” I replied. “You buried the rest nine years ago.”

Gerald moved forward. “Now listen here. That is no way to speak to your daughter.”

I turned to him. “And who exactly are you to tell me how to speak on my porch?”

Diane raised her camera and began photographing the house, the dock, the boats, and finally me in the doorway. “For documentation,” she said.