What Jacqueline needed, what all of us with our hidden delights need, was not privacy.

It was safety.

It was the simple assurance that if she opened the door and showed us her flour, we would not laugh at her, or that if we laughed, it would be the warm kind of laughter that says I love this about you, and not the kind that makes a person want to shut the door again for good.

Theodore’s teasing smile had softened into real regret.