“Twenty-one,” Bryce repeated.

Camila’s face lost its color.

Suzanne, Bryce told me later, was the first to do the arithmetic out loud — she’d always been quick that way.

“Wait.

Twenty-one weeks ago the two of you weren’t even seeing each other.”

Gordon had his phone out, thumbing back through the calendar.

“That would put conception around the first week of February.”

And Teresa turned to her son with a look he said he’d never seen on his mother’s face before.