I moved into the house in June.

I didn't change much. Mom's crossword books are still on the shelf. Her blue cardigan still hangs on the hook by the back door. Dad's toolbox is still in the shed.

The bakery cat came too. I called him Crab Cake. He sleeps on the porch in the sun and watches the boats on the creek.

I started a book club for the kids from the library. Every Saturday morning, a dozen children sit on Mom's porch with books and lemonade. Mom would have loved the noise. On Sundays, I still go to St. Mary's. I still go to the diner on West Street afterwards. I still order pancakes.

The waitress always brings a crab cake too, without asking. She puts it in front of the empty chair.

I never tell her not to.

Kyle comes every other Sunday now, with Ethan and Lily. He fixes things. Badly. He's not as good at it as Dad was. Or me. But he tries.

Amber doesn't come. That's all right.

Lauren comes once a month. She sits on the porch with a glass of wine, very stiff at first. Last time, she stayed until dark and laughed so hard at something Ethan said that she snorted.

She sounded exactly like Mom.