I came back to Bellwether in March for the reopening of the old theater.
The restoration studio had spent the winter repairing the lobby and replacing two sections of the balcony rail. I'd worked on the carved wood panels for three weeks, careful not to sand away the details someone had made by hand more than a century earlier.
When I saw the theater lights come up, I thought of my father, then of Jonah, then of myself at twenty-eight, carrying boxes into an apartment in Ashport without knowing yet how much it would cost to start over.
I stayed for the reception because I was proud of the work.
Jonah stood near the back of the lobby with Diane. When he saw me, he lifted a hand. He didn't cross the room until I waved him over.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"You did a beautiful job."
"We did.
