had once owned.
The house was noisy again.
Coffee cups clinked.
People laughed.
Someone turned on Ezra’s favorite jazz station.
For one brief moment, I imagined him sitting in his usual chair, silently inspecting everything.
Emma came to stand beside me.
“He would love this,” she whispered.
“He would complain about the coffee.”
“Absolutely.”
“And the porch railing.”
“He would say it leans.”
“It does lean.”
She looked at me.
“Dad, it’s perfectly straight.”
I laughed so suddenly that tears filled my eyes.
Part 11: Every Sunday After
Three years