I stood under the dim bulb and read it again.

Formula, bottles, portable crib.

A list for a baby who would not be anywhere near a ski slope.

The closet door slid open under my palm, and the dry cleaning rustled.

Behind me, from the dining room, came Gemma’s voice, low and quick, saying something I could not quite catch, and then Lucas laughing the way he laughed when he wanted something to be over.

The office light was still on at eleven o’clock, and Lucas was already out of the chair with one hand on the lamp.