“Sunday night, we’ll be back before dinner,” he said, climbing up into the driver’s seat.

“I know,” I said, leaning through the open window to kiss him.

“So please drive carefully.”

“Miss me responsibly while I’m gone,” he said, with that warm, crooked grin that had been undoing me for twenty years.

“Just go already,” I laughed, and I stepped back from the truck.

The boys waved through the back windows, all three of them at once, a blur of hands and grinning faces, and I lifted my phone one more time and caught them like that — waving, laughing, pulling away down the gravel drive in the bright Saturday sun.

I thought I was capturing another ordinary family memory.