It was a hard lesson, but perhaps a truer one than the fantasy of a father who could buy perfect safety.

Later that week, I visited Eleanor at her daughter’s apartment.

Watercolor paintings covered the kitchen walls.

She had painted the lighthouse in a dozen shades of gray and blue, each one with a different sky.

“How are the boys?” she asked.

“Getting stronger.

They ask about you.”

She smiled, though tears stood in her eyes.