photograph of Daniel and Arthur with the silver trophy.
“What should we do with it?” she asked.
“Put it back above Arthur’s fireplace.”
Arthur smiled.
“Even after everything?”
“It brought me to the truth.”
Eleanor turned the photograph over.
“Daniel wrote something on the back.”
I read the faded sentence aloud.
“For the day Helen finally stops waiting.”
Arthur offered me his hand as music drifted from the ship’s lounge.
“Old jazz,” he said.
“Would you like to dance?”
“I haven’t danced in years.”
“Neither have I.
That gives us equal reason to be terrible.”
Eleanor laughed and tucked the photograph safely into her bag.
“Go on, Helen.
I’ll guard the past.”
I took Arthur’s hand.
Behind us, the city lights stretched across the water.
Ahead of us were New Zealand, Canada, and every place I had once saved for someday.
“Are you frightened?” Arthur asked.
“A little.”
“Do you
