What keepsake for me, Laura wonders, to soften memories of childhood among shadowy rooms bereft of easy affection?
“Your bed at Sunny Vale is waiting, mom. You’ll sleep easier tonight.”
Mrs. Gibson hands Laura a foggy, creased photo. A handsome man with lowered, haunted eyes. Her father: long departed, rarely remembered.
“Do ghosts remain at home?” her mother says. “Or will they travel too?”