I take it to the sofa and tear away the paper. It's a copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese.
"Oh," I say, hoping I don't sound as disappointed as I feel. "A book."
"It was your mother's. They were her favorites. She used to read them to me in the evenings." He breaks off, unable to continue.
He pulls me to him, holding me close.
"I'm glad you're home, Gemma."