The bird died the same day our dad died. He was Charlotte’s bird, a red canary, a deep scarlet orange creature with a white triangular beak that pointed sharply out from under two eyes that looked like black glass seed beads, the type that we stitched onto leather pouches with long fringes during summer camp. The bird had been a present for her tenth birthday and, because she had been reading a lot of Greek mythology, she named the bird Eos, the goddess of the dawn. Later we learned that it was actually a male bird and changed it to Apollo but still called it Eos.

Charlotte loved Eos but had mixed feelings about Dad.