He made the plan: Everyone forms a circle around the fire. Chairs, blankets, no food, no alcohol, no distance. If one of them slips, someone else notes it immediately and brings them back.
Midnight came. The rain fell steady. They built the fire. They sat in their circle. The watchers roamed beyond the floodlights. Each wife held the hand of another beside her.
They whispered to one another, recited memories, sang soft lullabies, read poetry, spoke truths. Each took a minute to lean in, to whisper. Then they rose, two at a time, to walk between chairs, assuring presence, confirming names.
Wind shook the canopy. Rain tapped softly on leaves.
Suddenly, a flash of blue deep in the forest. Then another. A drift of smoke. Jude heard his name, three daughters calling.
He stood, voice firm. "Name."
Grace called his name. "He's here."
