Alma Del Mar Johnson had never been one to stand on ceremony. Still, she wished she knew a bit more about the protocol; surely there was something to be done in a situation like this, proper words to be said, and formality to be observed.

She was reasonably sure that she had found the right clearing, based on his description, half a century old. She'd driven her pickup up the access road, which she assumed was new, since he hadn't said anything about it, until she had to leave it where the trail crossed the river on a log bridge, and continue about another hour on foot into the woods.

She could hear his words in her ear, jumping off the page as clearly as if he'd spoken them: "Junior, you got to do me this one thing."

The box was unfamiliar and rough in her hands, a wooden box about the size of a brick, with inlaid metal on the top. Running her fingers over the surface, she could still feel the fine dust on it in the inlaid edges, and imagined she could feel her father's fingers tracing its edges as well, shaking with emotion or the adrenaline of the hunt, the box cradled in his hands, pulled from the still-loose dirt, laid gently on the seat as he threw the truck in gear, tires spitting gravel, not turning on his lights until he'd put a quarter mile between him and the moonlit cemetery.

She held her breath as she opened the lid, although she'd known what she'd find inside since she'd lifted it off the shelf in his closet. Still to have it laid bare brought a tightening to her chest: this was a piece of it, her father's stoic grief, her mother's tight-lipped answers to questions she and Francine asked. Perhaps it was a request that did not deserve to be honored, a betrayal of someone, though she hardly knew who.

But she upended the box anyway, spilling the fine ash in a wide arc. Before she could hesitate, the second box was in her hands, this one cold brass, with the simple embossed cross at which she'd stared through the eulogy, wondering why her eyes were dry. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, but she had it open, and poured the second set of ashes in another half circle. She thought she'd whisper, bye daddy, but she choked on the sounds and turned away instead, as the breeze caught the fallen ash, swirling and mixing, carrying it away over the long grass.