Chapter 1
I had seven dollars, my little sister’s hand, and a photograph Dad had told me never to lose.
The bakery door opened with a bell. Lily looked up at the glass case before we had even stepped inside.
“Cinnamon rolls,” she whispered.
She was five. She had not eaten since the crackers our neighbor gave us the night before.
I was eleven, which meant I was old enough to know seven dollars would not buy much. It did not mean I knew how to tell Lily.
A woman behind the counter smiled at us.
“Good morning. What can I get you two?”
I looked at the prices. One sandwich cost almost everything I had. The cinnamon rolls were cheaper, but I had promised Dad I would make sure Lily ate a proper breakfast.
“Do you have anything with eggs?” I asked.
“We do. A breakfast sandwich is six fifty.”
I checked the coins in my pocket. Dad’s photograph was in my other hand, folded safely inside a plastic sleeve.
“What about two?” Lily asked.
The woman’s smile softened.
I felt my face getting hot. “We’re still deciding.”
I led Lily to a table near the window. She kept looking back at the case.
“We can share,” she said.
“You need more than half a sandwich.”
“I’m little. My half can be little.”
I sat across from her and tried to think. Mrs. Carter, our neighbor, had given us the seven dollars when we left that morning. She told us to call as soon as we reached the bakery.
She thought I was coming to ask about a man named Arthur.
Dad had written Arthur’s name and this address on the back of the photograph. He had never explained who Arthur was. I found the picture in Dad’s coat after the hospital called us.
For nine days, I had carried it everywhere.
Dad had been sick longer than he told us. I knew he got tired on the stairs. I knew he sometimes sat in his truck before coming inside, breathing slowly until he could smile at Lily.
I had not known he might die.
After the funeral, Mrs. Carter stayed with us when she could. She helped make calls. A woman from an agency came to talk about where Lily and I would live. Everyone spoke gently, but nobody could promise we would stay together.
Then I found the address.
I had convinced Mrs. Carter to let us go to the bakery that morning while she made another call. She said she would meet us there within an hour.
Now I wondered whether I had made a mistake.
“Maybe Arthur isn’t here,” I told Lily.
“Is Arthur our friend?”
“I don’t know.”
She reached across the table and touched the edge of the picture.
I pulled it back too quickly.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You hold it like Dad held my hand in parking lots.”
I looked down at the photograph. Dad had written one more thing beneath the address.
If you need help, ask him.
I wished he had told me why.
The woman from behind the counter came to our table carrying two cups of water.
“I’m Ruth,” she said. “Take your time.”
She set the cups down without asking us to order. I tried not to stare at the sandwiches other people carried past us.
A man at the next table lifted his newspaper. He had silver hair, a dark jacket, and a face that looked familiar in a way I could not place.
Lily drank half her water.
“Can we get the cinnamon roll?” she asked quietly.
“We can get one.”
“You should have some.”
“I will.”
I went to the counter and counted out my money. Ruth gave me the roll on a plate, cut into two pieces. She had made one piece larger. I carried it to Lily and put the larger half in front of her.
She noticed.
“We can switch.”
“I had breakfast,” I lied.
The silver-haired man lowered his newspaper.
I focused on Lily while she ate. I did not want a stranger watching us. I slid the photograph beneath my arm and broke a tiny piece from my half.
The man stood.
He moved slowly toward our table, as if he was afraid of startling us. He stopped far enough away that Lily did not have to lean back.
“Excuse me,” he said. “May I ask about that picture?”
I held it tighter.
Dad had kept it inside his coat for years. I was not going to hand it to a stranger because he asked politely.
“It’s mine.”
“I’m not asking to take it.”
His voice shook.
I looked at the photograph. The young man in it had a rounder face and more hair, but I could see the same eyes.
He was holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
I looked up at the man again.
“That’s you,” I said.
He nodded.
His hand found the back of an empty chair. He gripped it.
“Who gave you the picture?”
“My dad.”
The man’s eyes filled. He looked at Lily, then back at me.
Ruth had come out from behind the counter. She stood nearby without interrupting.
The man swallowed.
May you like
“What was your father’s name?” he asked.
“Daniel,” I said.
