There was a long silence.

Every Friday, she said.

Yes.

Since when.

Three years.

And I heard her exhale, a slow unsteady breath, and she said, I did not know that, and then, more quietly, I repeated something I had not checked.

Who else did you tell, I asked, and she did not answer right away, and the not-answering was the answer, and then she said, I told Mark, your cousin.

I wrote his name down under the first sentence.