"Oh hell yes." Tatum turned the radio up to a decimal that would insure police knocking on the door. Marta cringed as she took a seat on my father's lap. "This is my song."

Some Beyonce song mixed with months of separation caused Tatum and Nick to perform a dance that would have Marta praying to God for forgiveness until next Thanksgiving. Everly watched with a huge grin, probably more thankful everyone was staring at them and not her pajamas.

"No," my father grumbled. "No, no, no. You have NO idea what you're doing." He was still a little high in the sky if you wanted my opinion. Not enough to be alarmed, but just enough to be entertaining. "What is with all the bending over? Thatsa thing you kids do?"

"It's called Twerking," Marta replied, "It's going around in all the high schools."

We all cracked up. "You make it sound like a virus," I told her.

"It's definitely sick," she nodded. Tatum turned around and rolled her eyes so only I could see.

"Itsnot this twerkin that's the problem," my father continued, "It's the void of a man leading his lady. What happened ta that? She's doin' all the damn work and ya just standing there completely useless Nicholas!"

"Yeah?" Nick challenged. "You got something better, old man?"

"I sure as helllllll do."

I turned my face into Everly's shoulder to hide my laughter. Not that she was any better.

"Find me a song," he ordered Tatum.

Tatum scanned through the stations until she found a song begging for you to tell her somethin' good over pops and clicks.

"Let me see whatcha working with, Papa Trovatto." She was gonna dance with him but then he shook his head and pushed Marta's hips so he could stand. I expected him to take her hand-cringing internally-but he crossed the room and went straight to Everly.

He offered his hand. "May I?"

She looked at him like she was a child. "You know I can't," she replied quietly.

"You can. I know this for a fact because I remember teaching you."

I stared at him but he only watched Everly. She took his hand and let him lead her to the middle of the room. Tatum pushed the coffee table aside and Marta folded her arms across her chest awkwardly, knowingly dismissed.

"Remember how I told you it's like sweeping the floor?" He swayed Everly lightly back and forth. "Your weight is mine, your feet are mine." He led her as if they were center-stage in a ballroom and a classic voice loomed over the airwaves. He wore an honest, deep smile on his face that ran from his eyes down to his chin. And the faster he waltzed the brighter Everly's cheeks flushed. The more her smile mirrored his. The room grew louder and smaller and ignited into a time lost. It wasn't my father and mother-but that's where he got the dancing from-it was just a little girl who once wanted a father trapped inside a young woman who still needed to know that hope existed.

Tatum applauded as he dipped and spun and showed Everly off. And with every twirl I felt myself sink further into a sea of tranquility. The possibility of happiness, of normality, arose inside of me with such vigor I understood in an instant why those black robes went to church and belted praise each Sunday. I found sense in putting your hands to the Heavens as if someone above witnessed your devotion. She was right-everything rested on hope.

They ended the dance with a dramatic dip toward the audience. Everly reached out and touched my chin and I smiled at her. "391."

My father pulled her upright and took her hand so he could place a kiss.

I eyed him. "I'm not opposed to beating a senior citizen in his own home."

He only smiled and led Everly back to her place beside me. As if it were a secret he told her, "Thank you, Peach."

She looked at him as if she understood the code and gave a nod. Tatum was switching the radio dial as the doorbell rang. Two officers greeted Marta on the other side of the door with a complaint about fireworks. Nick nodded to me and then interrupted.

"Evening Officers." Gently he moved Marta aside with just the size of his frame. "Sorry about the ruckus, but, I just got back from a tour in Iraq, and my brother Callum wanted to welcome me home properly. Hope we didn't disturb anyone too badly, Sir." He extended his hand. "Sergeant Nicholas Petros."

Officer Stroud shook his hand, but frowned. "You know fireworks are against the law, don't you, Sergeant?"

Nick sighed. "You know what, Sir? I've been traveling the world for so long I don't even know where I am half the time."

"Yes, but you said it was your brother who set off the fireworks. If you're referring to Callum, I know he's Andrew's boy and has lived here his whole life, so he damn well knows better. Usually doesn't offer us any problems either." He tried to glance around Nick, but I grabbed Tatum's hand and pulled her up to the door with me, throwing my arms over her shoulders affectionately. "I do know better, and I'm very sorry. Truth is I was just really trying to impress my girlfriend." I kissed her cheek and cupped her hand in mine to hide her wedding ring. "But I won't be any more trouble tonight, Officer Stroud. I'm due at the hospital in thirty minutes and they don't allow fireworks either . . . not that there's anyone worth impressing even if they did." I kissed Tatum's cheek again.

He tried not to smile, but there was something lucky about this front door and people failing tonight.

AN OLD ATTIC.

Her life rested in the hands of an old attic. And our future rested in my ability to act as if she didn't matter.

So my days at work started to consist of asking Cecily the Cute Girl all of those questions I never wanted to ask. I paraded her around places I knew people from work would see us, like to Noelle's cafe, where she told me all about the humdrum details of her life's composition. I smiled at her every time we passed one another in the hallway at work. I talked about her with the nurses and asked more questions like, "Where would be a great place to take a girl I like on a romantic date?"

According to the hospital we were a thing.

According to Timothy Brighton I had no interest in finding out what happened to his daughter.