I had known them in the way parents know the families of their children’s friends: school concerts, pickup schedules, birthday invitations, small talk at graduation.

Austin brought them into their living room.

Through the window I saw Elaine cover her mouth.

Peter sat down heavily.

An hour passed.

Then another.

When Austin finally called us inside, Elaine’s face was swollen from crying, and Peter held an old folder in his lap.

Elaine stood before I could say hello.