You’re safe. You’re home. You’re okay. Her hand curled in his T-shirt, and she knew he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. All these years later, and still the tears could come so fast and hard. As they should have. Justin deserved nothing less.

When she was done, she straightened up, got off the couch and blew her nose. Washed her face. Poured herself some more water, found a beer in the back of the fridge and offered it to him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Need a glass?” she asked, and he gave her a mock scowl before twisting off the cap and taking a pull.

“What’s your dog’s name again?” he asked.

“Connery. I share him with my landlady.”

“He’s wicked cute.” Connery wormed onto Dante’s lap and licked his chin, and Dante laughed.

Lark took a photo off the wall, went back to the couch and handed it to Dante.

“Justin Dean. We met in kindergarten.”

“Wow. That’s really sweet.”

“It was. He was.” She sat down next to him again, grabbed another tissue and wiped her leaky eyes. Connery stood against her chest and tried to lick her face. “Thanks, puppy. You’re a good boy.”

“You look happy,” Dante said, studying the picture. It had been taken in Venice, the day they got engaged. The gondolier had taken probably a hundred photos of them. He’d hugged them both goodbye.

“We definitely were.” She gave Dante a watery smile.

“So tell me about him,” he said, and she did. Oh, she did.

Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop. Their fateful kindergarten bonding. The science fair project about photosynthesis when they were eight. Fourth-grade gym class, where the gym teacher had them hold on to the edge of a parachute, raise their arms and then slide underneath it as the fabric billowed and floated above them. She and Justin lay next to each other, and it seemed like they were the only ones in the room. How Joey Weiner had chased her at recess, trapped her against a tree and was trying to kiss her in fifth grade, and Justin had shoved him away.

She got out her photo albums, kept meticulously since grammar school, and showed him pictures of her, her family, Justin, Heather and Theo. She couldn’t seem to stop talking. He didn’t seem to mind.

“How are his parents doing?” Dante asked.

“Well…they’re still here on the Cape. I see them a lot. But he was their only child.” Her voice turned into a whisper on those last couple of words.

“So tough. I don’t know how people handle it, losing a kid. Worst thing ever.”

“It really is.”

“And who’s this? Miss Trunchbull?” he asked, pointing to a picture of her mom’s mother.

“That’s my grandmother.”

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Sorry. I meant to say, ‘Who’s this beautiful older lady?’ ”

She laughed. “No, it’s okay. She’s kind of…sour. When Justin died, she told me I was too young to get married, anyway. That was it. Nothing else.”

“Wow. Did you punch her?”

“I wanted to. Also, how do you know who Miss Trunchbull is?”

“I’m not illiterate, Dr.Smith, no matter what my brother may have told you.” He paused. “Also, Izzy came to a Halloween party dressed as her last year.”

“Please tell me you were Matilda.”

“I admit nothing, but Izzy might have pictures.”

She laughed again. “Hey, are you hungry? I should make you lunch, or gosh, dinner, I guess. Dante, I’m so sorry. I’ve taken up your whole day.”