My little sister laughing against my shoulder again.
At the edge of the dance floor, Dad watched.
He looked old.
Truly old.
And alone.
I felt no triumph.
Only distance.
Some losses deserve grief.
Others simply require acceptance.
Near midnight, Clare found me outside on the terrace.
The country club lawn disappeared into darkness beyond the lights.
She had removed her shoes.
I had mine in one hand.
“Very dignified, General,” she said.
“Classified information.”
She smiled.
Then grew serious.
“I have something else.”
“Please don’t tell me you found more legal documents.”
“No.”
She reached into a small box.
Inside was a photograph.
Two girls.
Me at seventeen.
Clare at ten.
We were sitting on the hood of Dad’s old station wagon eating ice cream.
I stared at it.
“I thought he destroyed all of these.”
“So did I.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Mom’s things.”
