Miriam understood.

“You hated thunderstorms.

We counted the seconds between lightning and thunder and pretended each number was a floor in an imaginary hotel.

You liked floor seven because it had a swimming pool in the hallway.”

I gave an involuntary laugh, half a sob.

No report could have contained that absurd game.

I remembered naming the seventh-floor lifeguard Captain Pickles.

“And when I lost my blue mitten?” I asked.