“Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.”

“Papa was an accordion. But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.”

“Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”

“Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. the accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”

“The days carry the living along; the dead are left behind. It was disconcerting to discover how everything went on without Papa. The sun came up and went down, the roses bloomed, the birds sang, the stars wheeled overhead exactly as they had before”

“From a memory deep inside her, so faint it only held sounds and slips of color, a tiny, three-year-old Azalea wailed, "Papa.""Papa," said Azalea to the lifeless form of the King. The word was so forgein, it choked her throat. "Papa... you can't leave us, Papa... It would be very...out of order-"Bramble knelt opposite her, grasping the King's bandaged hand."She's-she's right, Papa," Bramble stuttered. "We have...rules..."Clover fell to her knees and pressed her handkerchief to his chest. Blood soaked through. "Papa," she whispered.The girls knelt around the King, their skirts spead out like forlorn blossoms, swallowing , and whispering one word."Papa.""Papa.""Papa.”