Chapter 20
He followed her into the kitchen.
Lily was already at the table with her crayons, working on something large.
She had taped four sheets of paper together to make a bigger canvas.
"What are you making?" Harold asked, setting the pastries down and leaning to look.
Lily sat back and let him see.
It was a house.
A big house with a yard — the yard she'd stood in, he recognized the tree she'd drawn in the corner, the specific shape of it.
In front of the house were three people.
One tall, one medium, and one small.
The small one had yellow hair like Lily's own.
The medium one was wearing a purple sweater.
The tall one was holding a bag.
In the tall one's other hand was a small circle.
A ring.
"That's you," Lily said, pointing at the tall one.
"I gave you the ring because you're the one who has it."
Harold looked at the drawing for a moment.
"It's very good," he said.
"I know." She picked up a brown crayon and began adding a door to the house.
"Grandpa Harold?"
It was the first time she'd used the name without being prompted.
She said it with the same matter-of-fact ease she brought to everything, as if it had always been waiting there for the right moment to be used.
Harold sat down at the table beside her.
"Yes?"
She kept drawing, her tongue moving to the corner of her mouth in concentration.
"Are we going to stay this time?"
He looked at her profile.
The line of her jaw — Anna's jaw, which was his jaw, which had traveled through time and hardship and come to rest in this child who drew houses on taped-together paper and asked only the things that mattered.
"Yes," he said.
"You're going to stay."
She nodded, satisfied, and added a window with a flower box.
Anna set three mugs of tea on the table and sat down across from her father.
May you like
She didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
