Rebecca, in the Oregon one, holding a two-year-old upside down.

Me, in dress blues, which she had chosen over a much better photograph of me because, she informed me, “it’s more impressive.”

And one of the three of us — Samantha, Hannah and me — on a picnic blanket at Bear Creek the previous August, taken by a stranger, in which all three of us are squinting.

At the end there were questions, and a boy in the second row asked her, without any malice at all, whether she ever wished she had a normal family.

Hannah looked at her poster for a second.

Then she looked at the back of the room, at me, and then back at him.