Ariel climbed onto Clara’s lap without asking permission.

Clara stiffened, then carefully wrapped one arm around her.

“Does the lighthouse still work?” Ariel asked.

Clara blinked.

“No. I mean the hope.”

Clara looked at me.

The question cracked something open between us.

“Yes,” she said. “I think it does.”

—

The party resumed, although it no longer felt the same.

Glen returned to the grill.

My father brought Clara a clean towel.

Ariel spent the rest of the afternoon drawing smiling suns on everyone’s paper cups.

Near sunset, after the final guest had gone, I found Clara beside the quiet pool with her feet dangling in the water.

I sat next to her.

For a while, we watched forgotten balloons sway against the fence.

Then I touched the faded lighthouse.

“I thought this tattoo was hiding something that would break our family,” I whispered.

Clara wiped beneath one eye.