The one where she and my dad are paddling toward the Seal Rocks in the double kayak. The one where she and my aunt Francie are headed off down the path, laughing and beckoning to the photographer. The one where she’s telling Charlie something important on the lawn after his wedding. The one where she’s holding snoozing Benny in her lap in the Adirondack chair. The one where she and I are smiling on the porch swing. The one where she’s standing on the very end of the breakwater by the boathouse—a silhouette, arms akimbo, wind whipping her hair. It is taken from a boat, and it is clear she is not greeting the photographer; she is seeing them off, although she is not waving or smiling. The tide is high, and silver waves splash the rocks. I’m fine where I am, her planted feet say, as if it is the end of summer and she is the only one staying behind.