“What moment this time?” I asked, carving an odd figure out of a piece of driftwood. “This one. I like it, but it’s incomplete. It’s bittersweet. It’s everything, but with an asterisk. Your mom has a grandson, so does my dad. One they will never see.” “Maybe.” “Maybe?” she parroted. “Your dad doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would really let his daughter go forever.”
