Not because the night had been beautiful.
Because the children had been.
After dinner, everyone went outside. The yard glowed with strings of small lights. Music played softly from the porch. Neighbors talked beneath the apple tree.
Petra found me near the kitchen door.
“I have something for you,” she said.
She handed me a flat wooden box.
Inside was a brass plaque.
For Harold and Evelyn Vale,
who believed a house becomes a home
when there is room for one more.
I read it twice.
“You made this?”
“With the children.”
Mara appeared beside her.
“I painted the apple.”
A red apple had been carved beneath the words, slightly crooked and surrounded by purple stars.
“It is perfect,” I said.
Petra watched my face.
“You can put it wherever you want.”
I carried the plaque inside.
For a moment, I considered the wall above the old silver candlesticks. Then I walked to the doorway between the dining room and the parlor, where everyone could see it.
Dex helped me hang it.
The room grew quiet as people read the words.
Martin placed his hand on Petra’s shoulder.
Lenora leaned against him.
Mara took my left hand. Owen took my right.
Petra stood a few feet away, waiting.
I looked at her.
“Come here.”
She crossed the room.
