“Ask your uncle.”

She stood up and smoothed her skirt, and I had to look away from her hands doing that.

“You were just a child we left here because it was convenient, Diana, not the owner,” she said.

“I’m sorry if that sounds blunt.”

“It sounds blunt.”

She pulled out her keys on their ring, and there among the fobs and the grocery tag hung a brass key, worn smooth at the bow, older than the one in my own coat pocket.

“That’s her front door key.”