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that squeaked.
Afi
must have brought her things in while she slept. Next to the bag sat her camera cases. She would have loved a shower but didn’t want to wake her grandfather at this early hour. Pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt, she made her way to the kitchen, hoping to find a cup of coffee and a slice of the
vinnaterta
she’d bought yesterday.
    The enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the kitchen. Next to the pot sat the cup she’d always used as a teenager and a slice of cake covered in plastic wrap. Analise filled her cup, added a spoon of sugar, and leaned against the scratched and worn wood counter. A rhythmic
squeak
came from the porch. Opening the door, she found her grandfather sitting on one of the rockers, watching the sun rise over the neighbor’s wheat field. The soft, pink rays turned the still-green crop a dusty rose color.
    Her grandfather turned his head at her arrival and motioned to her grandmother’s rocker next to his. She hesitated a moment.
Afi
and
Amma
had always sat in these rockers, waiting for her to come home from school. Then, she’d sat on the porch railing and told them about her day. Even the memory brought peace to her soul. Yet it seemed wrong somehow to take the empty seat.
    “I hope I didn’t wake you,” Analise began.
    “No, I don’t sleep much these days.”
    “
Afi
”—Analise waited until her grandfather looked at her—“if I had known
Amma
was ill, I would have come home right away. I would’ve been here for both of you. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
    “It’s all right, sweet. We didn’t even try to contact you until the doctors said there was no hope. Then that lawyer man told us that you were somewhere in the Middle East and he hadn’t heard from you in months.”
    “My—colleague”—she stopped herself just in time before saying fiancé—“Jean-Claude and I were working on a story about the nomadic tribes of the desert. We didn’t go to any towns or cities for several weeks. I should have kept in better contact.”
    At least that’s what I thought we were working on. Turns out, I had no idea who my fiancé really was until it was too late.
    “It was better that way. Toward the end, your
Amma
didn’t look like she had when you were here. It’s good you remember how she was before.”
    “But I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how much I love you both. You’re my only family.” Analise took a drink of her coffee, hoping to melt the lump that had developed in her throat.
    “She knew, sweet, we both did. What about your family in France? Has something happened to your father?”
    “He’s still alive as far as I know. I don’t see him. If we have to, we communicate through my lawyer.”
    “He is your father, Analise.”
    “He stopped being my father when he sent me here.” She could never understand how her grandfather could be so open-minded and forgiving, especially after what her father had done to her mother, Gunnar’s daughter.
    “It all worked out for the best. We got to know and love you, and you had a good life here, didn’t you?”
    “Yes,
Afi
, a very good life. That was because of you and
Amma
. Not because of
him
.”
    “Well, despite the loss of your mother, we were grateful to have you. We wouldn’t have had it any other way. And now you have Erik. I thought you were seeing some French journalist?”
    “I was, but then I met Erik again … ” She stared out across the land, not meeting her grandfather’s eyes. She hadn’t lied, not quite. Was the guilt that skidded through her from minimizing Jean-Claude’s place in her life or deceiving her grandparent? A soft sigh escaped her lips. Analise reached across and took her grandfather’s hand in hers. Together, they watched the dawn turn into day.
    A day that would include Erik Sigurdson.
     

Chapter 4
    “You’re Analise Tagan,” Sheryl accused. The waitress plonked the menus down in front of them. The complimentary glasses of orange