With her dad.

His voice inside her head remained as clear as ever.

“Joy, honey,” he said one summer afternoon, “let me show you how to hit the ball, all right?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He knew she wanted to play softball, so he wanted to prepare her for tryouts that summer. Joy smiled at the memory.

“You hold the bat like this,” he said as he gripped the bat. “Then set your feet like this.”

Ten-year-old Joy did her best to copy him at the ballpark. But because she had never batted before, he patiently showed her a proper stance at home plate.

“Swing at the ball, honey,” he said from the pitcher’s mound.

His tall, thin frame standing so many feet away remained in her mind as if the memory had happened yesterday.

“You can do it, honey,” he’d shout.

Joy slammed the drawer shut, leaned on the dresser, and wept.

“God, what am I going to do?” she cried. “I wish my parents were here. I wish my dad were here so I could ask him for advice. He was so wise.” She ran a finger across the photograph. “He’d know what to do and what to say.”

When she didn’t make the team that summer, Joy had sat crying under a tree at the park that evening, refusing to leave.

As the sun set, she saw the lights of her father’s car enter the parking lot.

“Joy, it’s time to come home now.” He stood by the car. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”

She shook her head, staring at a bug on the ground. The slamming of the car door and his approaching footsteps sent shame through her. She cried even harder, pulling her knees up to her chin and burying her face in her arms.

He sat down on the grass next to her. “It’s okay, honey.”

Joy looked up at him, tears streaming down her face.

“You’ll make the team next year.”

“They made fun of me, Daddy.” She sniffled.

He frowned and shook his head, gently rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, Joy.” He stretched out his long legs and motioned for her to sit on his lap.

When Joy sat in his lap, he wrapped his strong arms around her, comforting her.

“It hurts, I know,” he said. “But the hurt won’t last forever, honey. It’ll be all right. I’ll help you with pitching, grounders, and we’ll go to the batting cages so you can learn to hit. How does that sound?”

Joy squeezed her daddy as tightly as her little arms could. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.

He pecked the top of her head. “I love you too.”

Forty-six years later, in the bedroom of her home, Joy leaned against the dresser, staring into her late father’s kind eyes, remembering his voice.

Heart-stricken, Joy yearned to talk with him one more time.

“Get a grip, Joy.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, things grew clearer. Dad would want you to be strong, you know that. Starting over will be tough but not impossible. It can happen. I can do this.

“Do you want to see lovely roses, geraniums, or daisies? The seed has to break open and die before new growth can occur. . .” she remembered her grandmother saying to her as she held tiny seeds in the palm of her hand. And then Alessandro’s voice echoed in her mind as well, telling her the same thing.

The seed must die, Joy, she told herself. Old things must pass away—it’s that simple.

A light rap on the door jarred her. “Yes?” Joy cleared her throat and brushed aside tears.

“Mom? Are you okay?” Jaime’s voice was small, like a little girl’s.

It broke Joy’s heart. Tony must have called her from Rome. Way to go, Tony. She rolled her eyes.

“Yes. Come on in.” Grabbing a tissue, Joy used it to blow her nose.

The door slowly pried open. “I wanted to check on you.”

“Why? I’m fine.” Joy offered a fake laugh.

But it didn’t fool Jaime. She smirked.

“Mom . . .”

“What?” Joy lifted her suitcase and plopped it onto the bed, then unzipped it. “Just wanted to unpack, then hop in the shower.”

Jaime crossed her arms and leaned against the door. “Michael went to bed. Mind if I sleep in here tonight, since I’ve been sleeping in here every night?” She chuckled.

“I’d love that, sweetie.” Joy tossed the clothes onto the floor. “A lot of laundry to do tomorrow.”

“So . . .” Jaime bit her upper lip. “Do you want to talk about it tonight or tomorrow?”

“I take it your father called you?”

“From Rome, yes.” Jaime vented air between her lips.

“Ah.” Joy tossed a blouse onto the bed. “Do you want to talk to me about it now?” She squinted. “Because it looks like you want to talk about it now.”

Jaime shrugged and shook her head.

Joy tilted her head and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“I just . . .” Jaime gestured as if trying to find the words. “I’m worried about you, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Sit.” Joy sat on the bed and patted the comforter.

Jaime rushed over and sat next to her mom.