Circa could feel her heart beating in her earlobes. The festivities at the Maple Grove Residence were just getting started, but August sixth had already far exceeded her once-faded, wildest dreams. From Circa’s perch on the bricked edge of the walking path, at the center of the atrium, it appeared as though a hundred people had shown up for the unveiling of the Studio Monroe Memory Wall. She stood as still as her nerves would allow as Nurse Lily tried again and again to pin a corsage to Circa’s new dress without sticking her in the shoulder. As Lily fiddled with the big pearly straight pin, Circa surveyed the entire scene from just above the crowd’s heads.

All around her, a delightful mix of residents, family, and friends milled about. There was Ms. Rempy and her slurring parrot, Hank-not-the-Mayor and his digestion, Maki Lee carrying the branch she’d decorated for Circa, and even the Nelsons, wide awake and holding hands in their side-by-side wheelchairs. There were church friends, neighbors, and schoolteachers. Even Sergeant Simms from the police station was there. She was sorry to note that there was also Stanley Betts, standing right next to the stage with a broom in his hand. Lily had instructed him not to leave her sight, so all he did was stand there looking surly and sweeping the same crumpled napkin back and forth. Circa had secretly hoped to see him smile at least once, so she could check if just maybe his teeth were a little Shopt yellow.

“Oooh,” said Lily. “Somebody already needs a nap.”

Through the glass wall between the atrium and the lobby, Circa was tickled to both see and hear the Boones’ arrival, as little Durret was indeed in the midst of a small tantrum. She watched Nattie and family walk straight over to Mom, who was greeting one person after another in the lobby and sharing with each of them the stories on the Memory Wall behind her. Even Circa had to admit the wall was a grand thing to behold, and as it should be, for she had worked tirelessly for weeks restoring to perfection the images of her Maple Grove friends and the town they called home. Mom had even done her own special part, paying a visit to the center in July to make a new portrait of each resident—all but one, that is—to include with the older pictures on the wall.

After Mom introduced the Boones to the display, she directed them over to a food area, which was really Lily’s desk draped in a purple velvety cloth covered with all manner of cheeses and fruits. To Circa’s delight, Mom had picked up everything herself at the store and as a surprise, she’d even tried to slice the apples into thinnest-evers. Naturally, Circa kept it to herself what a poor job Mom had done. After all, it was worth eating thickest-evers for the rest of forever to see her mom smiling regularly.

“Lily,” said Circa, her eyes fixed long-distance on the swath of purple fabric. “I sure do wish Captain Mann would have come out today.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Lily, finally getting the corsage situated. “But you and me just might need to set that wish aside for a while, baby.”

It had gotten so crowded in the atrium that Circa hadn’t even noticed Nattie weaving her way through, until she’d bounded onto the bricks and done a huge fake sneeze onto Circa’s carnation.

“Nattie!”

“Sorry, Circ, I just had to do it,” she said. “Did you know that the Europeans used to use the carnation to treat fevers?”

Nattie patted the big flower.

Circa rolled her eyes. “Poop magnet,” she muttered.

“No, seriously, it’s true,” Nattie said, “But mainly I wanted to tell you what an amazing job you did on that wall.”

Circa felt herself blush. “Thanks, Nat. That’s real sweet.”

“Amazing job, that is…for a total shmoo,” said Nattie, taking a leap off the bricks before Circa could swat her. Nattie nearly collided with Miles, who was making his own careful way toward the stage carrying three glass-bottle Cokes.

“Here comes our boy,” said Lily. “Your mom tells me he’s doing better and better.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Circa. “Him and my mom both are. They go to see Dr. Jones every Monday.”

Circa smoothed her dress. “His memory has been coming back to him real slowly, but the doctor says that’s a good thing,” she said. “Miles and I call it one pixel at a time.”

Circa watched Miles carry the bottles high over people’s heads.

“He’s even going to start school with me in a couple weeks.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Lily. “Be nice to have a big brother around, huh?”

Just as Miles approached, Circa eyed Stanley pushing his broom right into the path of Miles’s feet. There was no time to warn him though, so all Circa could do was squench her eyes and brace for the trip. When she didn’t hear a crash, she opened her eyes to see Miles stopped in his tracks, glaring hard at his nemesis. He said only one thing.

“Beat it, jackola.”

Stanley drew back the broom and looked to Lily for support.

“Sounds like great advice to me,” she said.

A scowl came over Stanley’s face, and with a dramatic jerk of his arm, he flung his broom into the pond, sending fish darting off in every direction.

“I’m out!” Stanley hollered as he stomped and swore his way through the parting of the crowd, to the lobby, and right out the door. The guests closed right back into the gap after he was gone, and except for a few whispers and a “Hallelujah!” from Lily, it was like nothing had even happened.

“Yes,” Circa said to Lily emphatically. “It sure is nice to have a big brother around.”

Miles handed Circa and Lily each a Coke as Ben-the-Councilman, the next best thing to Hank-the-actual-Mayor of Wingate, stepped onto the bricks alongside Circa and commanded everyone’s attention. Miles and Lily hopped down, leaving Circa and the councilman alone up there in the atrium’s natural spotlight. Circa gulped her drink so fast it fizz-burned her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man boomed way louder than the small crowd demanded. “I’m certainly not the star of this event, so I’ll be brief as an elected official can be. We have come here today to celebrate the unveiling of a wonderful tribute to the men and women of the Maple Grove Residence. An ever-present reminder not only of these residents’ storied pasts, but of Wingate’s rich history as well. And it is my understanding that this tribute makes its debut today because of the efforts of a persistent, talented, and hardworking young lady, Circa Monroe.”

The crowd erupted into applause that made Circa go warm all over.

“I’d also like to say,” said the man, “it has been brought to my attention that this young lady, together with her partner in training, Miles, plans to restore storm-damaged photos for local tornado victims as Studio Monroe’s next project.” The crowd applauded again. “Would you like to say a few words?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Circa felt her knees go wobbly, but she nodded anyway, and the man stepped off the bricks. Circa cleared her throat and swallowed big as the claps died down. Then she locked eyes with her mom, who stood on tiptoe at the back of the gathering.

“Um. Thank you. But it wasn’t just me,” she said, as Lily motioned for her to speak louder. Beneath her, Circa felt her dressy shoes teetering on the bricks. “I just finished what my dad started is all.

“He used to…my dad, I mean…” she said, “he used to tell me that a good photograph could make one now speak for a million thens.”

Circa looked to her feet, her throat feeling too tight for more words. Just then, someone began pushing and excusing his way to the front of the crowd. It was Miles, and he planted himself firmly in a spot where Circa could see him nod her on.

“At his funeral,” she said, “the preacher told us that the comings and goings of a person’s soul are best left up to God.”

Circa focused on Miles until the others blurred around him.

“And now I know that even if God lets somebody’s life be short, there could still be one now that makes the coming and going of his soul totally worth it.”

Circa bowed her head and buckled her knees. She noticed that the crowd had fallen silent except for some sniffling. So very silent, she thought she could hear the small tinkle of a bell from over on her right. Circa turned her head to look toward the sound as her audience dabbed their eyes, and she nearly gasped in surprise at what she saw at the edge of the atrium. It was a purple door swung wide open, revealing the backlit silhouette of a stooped old man.

Circa suddenly felt speechless. “Thank you,” she clumsily blurted out, as Lily rushed to relieve her with some additional words of gratitude. Since all eyes had been on her, Circa seemed to be the only one who noticed the new guest. She stepped off the brick wall swiftly into the waiting hugs of a dozen people, her own mom included.

“I’ve never been more proud,” Mom said. “And I know your dad is loving every moment of this.”

“Thanks, Mom,” said Circa, stopping to give her a proper hug, all the while keeping her eyes on the man waiting in the doorway.

With Lily still speaking to the crowd about Maple Grove, Circa slowly approached the man who stood leaning at the threshold of his room.

“Captain Mann,” she said.

The man in the doorway reached up and tipped his hat. It was an army captain’s hat, just like Lily had described, and it was covered with medals of all colors. The man’s shoulders were wrapped in a red plaid blanket that was so big it hid most of the rest of him.

“Hello,” said Circa. “I’m Circa Monroe.”

“So I’ve heard,” the man said. “You’ve made quite an impression today, Circa Monroe.”

The man’s voice was weak and scraggly, but somehow soothing. Circa studied the lines on his weathered face, drawn to one deep forehead crinkle in particular. It made Captain Mann seem every bit as strangely familiar to her as Miles had that May afternoon on their front porch.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” she said. “Some crackers or cheese or something?”

“No, thank you,” he said, shifting his weight with a grimace. “But could you maybe find me something to lean on?”

“Sure,” said Circa, promptly looking around for something to fit the bill. “Hang on.”

Circa saw the back of Miles’s head in the crowd. He was holding Stanley’s broom upright next to him. She squeezed through and tugged at the back of his shirt.

“Come on,” she said. “And bring the broom.”

“What’s up?” said Miles.

“You won’t believe it,” she said. “It’s Captain Mann. He’s come out!”

Circa and Miles wove their way back over to the man, as Lily wrapped things up and directed the visitors to take a tour of the garden. Circa handed over the broom, and the old man gripped it like a hiking stick.

“Much appreciated,” he said.

“Captain Mann,” said Circa. “This is Miles. You remember, the boy on the poster I wanted you to meet?”

The man tipped his hat at Miles the same as he’d done before, but Miles just stood there gaping. He seemed twice as surprised as Circa was to see their long-invisible friend make an appearance.

“Captain Mann,” said Circa stiffly, filling in the silence. “We’re so happy that you’ve decided to come out and meet us for the first time at our celebration.”

Miles cleared his throat to interrupt.

“Um…Not for the first time, Circa,” he said, with a widening grin. “Or even the second time, really.”

Circa noticed that Miles had a look of recognition on his face, but not a sickly one like he’d given Mrs. Linholt months before. And certainly not like the look he’d had so many times over the summer when a bad memory would come back to him. Instead, it was more like the satisfied expression of a mystery being solved. She glanced over at Captain Mann to see his response, but all he did was get a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“Maybe Captain Mann has come out to look for the moon,” said Miles. “Or just maybe he’s going to take the van for a joyride and pick up a lost hitchhiker.”

Circa went as white as her carnation.

“No way,” she said to the man. “You mean you’re the one—”

The old man shifted his weight again and made some grumbly growly noises. Then he swiftly handed the broom right back to Miles.

“Young man,” he said gruffly. “Don’t I recall saying you had a job to do?”

“Yes, sir, you did,” said Miles, and off he went just like that, sweeping crumpled napkins across the room with him.

“You know,” Captain Mann said, breaking the silence of Circa’s wondering, “I’m familiar with this Studio Monroe of yours.”

He turned and nodded toward the dresser on the other side of his dimly lit room, where there sat two photos propped against the mirror. One of them Circa instantly recognized as Miles’s poster. The other one had been put there in place of her old chicken-on-a-bicycle drawing. She could see just well enough to identify the photo. Just well enough to make her knees go weak.

“It can’t be,” she muttered. “The soldier picture.”

The Studio Monroe stamp that was reflected in the dresser mirror confirmed her suspicion. It was the original restoration of the old soldier photo she’d put that baby into on the day of the storm, on the very same day Captain Mann had shown up. How could it be? thought Circa, the once-doused thoughts of magic welling up all over again inside. She thought about that poor, incomplete baby she’d once fretted so about. About how old he might be if alive today, and how skilled he might be at escape. Circa grew so entangled in a fresh, sticky web of wonder, she hardly noticed that Captain Mann had begun to get wobbly in the knees himself. As he reached out to steady himself against the door frame, the blanket fell from around his shoulders and crumpled at their feet, startling Circa from her trance.

“Oh!” she said. “Hang on, Captain. I’ll get it.”

Circa stooped to gather the blanket off the floor. When she did, she was struck by yet another captivating detail about Captain Mann. What he’d been hiding under the blanket, or better yet, what he hadn’t been hiding was now plain as day. Captain Mann, she discovered, was in possession of not just one, but two good arms. As Circa struggled to stand up under the unwieldy heap of wool and relief and curiosity, the old man reached out to help her, wrapping his knobbled hand gently around hers. The second their hands touched, Circa took a small step back, somewhat staggered by the sensation that came.

“Oh my,” said Captain Mann. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir. I sure am,” said Circa, her face lighting up with a tender smile as she realized that this bizarre feeling, after all, was nothing new to her. This strange, unshakeable sense of connection that raced from the crinkle of her brow all the way to her missing pinkie finger.

Circa heard a distinct whimper from the other side of Captain Mann’s room. “So…” she said curiously as she peeked in. “I don’t suppose his name is Ernie Brown?”

“Whose name?” Captain Mann whispered.

“Oh, sorry,” Circa said slyly. “I just thought that might be a good name. For the dog, that is.”

“What’s the big idea?” said Captain Mann. “You trying to get me booted out of this place?”

He pulled his door shut behind him.

Circa laughed. “Come with me,” she said. “I want you to see something.”

Taking Captain Mann by the arm, Circa led him through the crowd into the lobby, trying to match her own shuffle speed to his. Then together, they stood front and center opposite the immense collage-style display of photographs that came to life in the glow of a dozen spotlights.

“This is the thing I told you about before, the Memory Wall,” she said. “These are all the other Maple Grove people. And their stories.”

Circa realized only when she felt the warmth that a small crowd of residents had gathered behind the two of them. She and Captain Mann looked back over their shoulders and saw Maki do a little bow, Miss Rempy blow a kiss, and Hank-not-the-mayor flash a purple smile.

Circa and the captain turned their attention back to the wall. “That photo right up there in the corner is me and my dad and my great-aunt Ruby,” she said. “We had all rolled our hair up real crazy. Even my dad. Look, we’re all squished into that bed in your room. Nurse Lily snapped the picture without us even knowing it.”

“Marvelous, just marvelous,” said Captain Mann. Circa saw his eyes go shiny as he took in the wall from corner to corner. “Only it makes me wish I had something to add to all this.”

“But I think you do,” said Circa. She glanced around the lobby, now brimming with smiles and loud, tangled stories of then and now.

“And maybe I can—” she said. “I mean, maybe we can help you reach it.”

At first, nobody really knew where the boy had come from. Both Miles and Corey, both lost and found. A pixelated baby. A 13-year-old wanderer. Not a Linholt. Not yet a Monroe. Just looking for answers…and himself becoming an answer to a prayer like any other.

Thank you, Dad.
Love, Circa