I looked at him.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I’d ask you myself,” Paul said.
“So I’m asking.”
“Literature,” I said.
“English Literature.”
Paul smiled.
It was the first time I had seen that smile in three years.
It looked exactly like his mother’s.
“Lily is going to love that,” he said.
Inside the house, someone had put music on.
Low and warm, drifting through the kitchen window.
I recognized the song — something Margaret had played on Sunday mornings while she made breakfast.
“Who chose that song?” I asked.
The brothers looked at each other.
“Lily,” Paul said.
“She found Mom’s old playlist on the family account.
She said we should play it tonight because Grandma would have wanted to be here.”
I looked up at the sky.
The stars were very clear.
“She is,” I said quietly.
Neither of my sons said anything.
