“No.

He said he was afraid of making you feel shut out, which didn’t make sense to me because keeping it secret was doing that already.”

I looked at my glass.

“Yes,” I said.

“It was.”

Timothy settled on the living-room floor with the drawing.

He worked on the empty figure while we spoke more quietly.

Beatrice told me about contacting Christopher, her mother’s death, and the family information she had only learned late.