Maybe she'd thought time was more elastic, or love more forgiving.

"My granddaughters," he said quietly. Meredith could see how affected they were by the sight of him. For the whole of their lives he'd been like one of the apple trees on this property. Sturdy and dependable.

Jillian was the first to lean down and kiss him. "Hey, Grandpa."

Maddy’s eyes were damp. She reached over for her sister’s hand and held it.

How was it that her whole life could be distilled down to that simple truth? Words mattered. Her life had been defined by things said and unsaid, and now her marriage was being undermined by silence.

At twelve, she had already discovered the empty spaces that gathered between people.

"What will we be without him?" Meredith whispered, clinging to her.

"Less," was all Nina could think of to say.

“I don't think men understand, though. ... They march off with their guns and their ideas and they think they know courage.”

Nina didn't know until then how a word like proud could rock your world, but it rocked hers, and she understood love in a way she hadn't before, the all-consuming way of it.

But lately that kind of intimacy felt impossible. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, or when, but distance seemed to be spreading between them like spilled ink, staining everything.

“It won't be easy," she said. "You know Meredith likes everything in its place. She'll want you here."

The smile he gave her was so sad and sloppy it broke her heart.

"You... hate easy."

"I do," she said quietly, stung by the sudden thought that without him, no one would know her that well.