Page 69 of Dirty Fighter

I somehow rough out the words to finish for her. “Always be a part of this place.”

She nods, running her fingers over the inscription. “I was going to bury it out by the thinking rock.”

“His favorite spot on the island.”

“Yeah. But when I actually saw what the ground was like… It’s so rocky.” She huffs a soft laugh. “There was no way I was going to be able to dig over there.”

And then it clicks. “Is that why you were crying?”

She glances around. “Maybe, a little. I just felt so stupid.”

“What? Why?” It’s the kindest, most loving gesture. Something my dad would have loved.

Her slim shoulder lifts into a shrug. “I had this idea in my head about how I was going to be able to do this one last thing for Ed. But I’d never even been here, and nothing was like I thought it would be. I guess it just hit me again that I missed the chance to get to know this place with your dad being a part of it.”

I take a slow, deep breath. Let it out. “Can I look through it?”

She reaches inside and carefully extracts a handful of photos.

I recognize the images. I’ve been seeing them my whole life.

Snapshots of my family, some dating from before I was born. Before my father was born. A collection of captured moments my dad held precious.

I turn over the first and read the neat script on the back:

Gram and Gramps Stanvic

Wedding day

* * *

He’d been asking her to marry him since they were five. After fifteen years, she figured he was probably serious and said yes.

“Rowan.” I can barely get her name past the emotions gripping my chest as I turn the next photo over.

Little Ed (age five, maybe?) with Mom after bringing home a skunk and promptly getting sprayed. Home remedy of tomato soup bath in baby pool, delivered by Dad.

And the next…

Gail Stanvic welcomed to the island for the first time (seven months pregnant with Jason) by husband Ed, Gramps, Gram, Bruce, and Sally

My dad loved that picture. It was my mother’s only visit. They’d met and been married within a month. Been expecting me the month after that. And then within two weeks of having me, she was gone. Complications.

Then more…

Gramps, Big Ed, and Jason (age eight— still waiting on first tooth lost to a puck to grow back in).

* * *

“Fish dinner tonight”

I laugh at the image of me, victoriously holding my three-inch catch up for the camera. My dad beaming down at me, his dad smiling at him.

Rubbing a hand over my chest, I hear his booming, joyful voice recounting each story to anyone he deemed worthy of hearing it.

I recognize every image. Know every tale. Except for one. A photo of my dad grinning down at Rowan, who was dressed in cap and gown.

“College grad now!”