Same general shape as Aster, although an older model.
Evan bought it.
Lily sat cross-legged on the living-room rug when he got home, building a spaceship from blocks in six colors.
She was six and serious about space in the way only a six-year-old could be serious about anything.
Every object became a spacecraft.
Kitchen colander.
Shoebox.
Laundry basket.
Once, his toolbox.
“Dad!”
She ran toward him.
Mrs. Alvarez stood from the couch.
“How’d it go?”
Evan lifted the grocery bag.
“I can afford groceries.”
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
“That good?”
“I got it.”
Lily screamed.
Not loudly enough to frighten neighbors.
Almost.
“You got the job?”
“I got the job.”
She wrapped herself around his waist.
“Are you fixing race cars?”
“Sort of.”
“Fast ones?”
“Very.”
“Can I drive one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You are six.”
“I’m almost seven.”
“That changes everything.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re joking.”
“I am.”
He handed her the small box.
She opened it.
Her mouth dropped.
“You bought me a car.”
“A very small one.”
She studied it reverently.
“This is my first car.”
“Insurance should be reasonable.”
Mrs. Alvarez laughed.
Later, after dinner, Lily carried the model from room to room.
Evan washed dishes.
The apartment was small.
Two bedrooms.
One bathroom.
Kitchen barely separated from the living room.
The refrigerator made a faint clicking sound every time the compressor started.
A final electricity notice sat unopened beside the microwave.
The red rent notice remained folded beneath it.
Nothing was solved yet.
But for the first time in months, Evan felt as though the floor might stop moving under him.
He dried his hands and looked toward the living-room shelf.
Something was missing.
“Lily?”
“Yeah?”
“Where’s Grandpa’s picture?”
“Mine.”
“What?”
She appeared in the hallway holding the metal car.
“I moved it.”
“Where?”
“My room.”
“Why?”
“So he can see my spaceship.”
Evan smiled.
Then followed her.
Daniel Carter’s photograph sat on Lily’s dresser beside a plastic Saturn.
Evan had seen the picture thousands of times.
His father stood beside a younger Richard Bennett at a company event.
Charlotte stood between them.
Nineteen.
Maybe twenty.
Hair longer.
Bright expression.
Daniel’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
Richard Bennett held a plaque.
In Daniel’s left hand was something Evan had never really noticed.
A small silver key.
He lifted the photograph.
Lily looked up.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He brought it closer.
Three letters were engraved faintly near the key’s head.
He could not read them.
“What are you looking at?”
“Your grandpa.”
“He looked serious.”
“He was serious.”
“Like you.”
“I’m fun.”
Lily stared.
Evan laughed.
“Okay.”
She pointed at Charlotte.
“Is that your boss?”