“We want to help you sell your house and make sure you have a down payment on the home of your dreams,” my mom said.
My dad selected a gift bag from which he pulled a scrapbook Mirabelle and I had been collaborating on over the Internet. She’d done the actual design, but we both contributed photos, and I wrote the captions. It started with photos from when he and my mom were dating and continued through the present, with a placeholder near the end for a group photo we would take after church tomorrow plus a few blank pages for new photos.
“Thank you, girls,” he said, voice quavering with emotion. “I say this means I’ll have many more wonderful memories with those I love.”
Alex picked the heaviest gift I’d packed. “I want to know what I almost broke my back carrying all the way here,” he
