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“Your grandmother had a piano in those rooms, a grand piano—I have no idea how they even managed to get it up to the sixth floor!—and she used to play the most beautiful songs on it.”

His hands rise to waist height and he sits up straight, as if there is a piano in front of him. His eyes turn suddenly toward me, with the same lightness Colin’s gets when he’s excited.

“We could always hear her playing Christmas carols through the wall. Do you still have that piano in the room?”

“We do,” I assure him, beaming at his excitement, at the image of my grandmother playing the piano with her family circled around her, singing as she plays.

“Ah, you do. She was quite the woman.”

The conversation transitions to December and Bud’s upcoming ninetieth birthday. In the next year, Bud will turn ninety, Colin’s father, Randy, will turn sixty, and Colin will turn thirty. Grandfather, father, and son, at thirty-year intervals.

“You guys could add on another little one to the mix,” Bud jokes. “Ninety, sixty, thirty, and zero. Four generations of Gaylords, thirty years apart. This would be the only year to do it, better get to it!”