“And so your parents are overprotective,” he said. “You were the daughter who almost wasn’t.”

“I think they were worse with Wendy than with me.” And then I told him something I’d never told anyone else. “I came so late in their lives, I think they were done wanting children. Then suddenly, not only did they have a baby they hadn’t expected or prepared for, they had one with life threatening health issues. In a foreign country yet. I read once that in previous generations parents believed it was best not to get attached to young children because the mortality rate was so high. In some ways, I think that’s what happened with me, and especially for Mom. She distanced herself.”

I realized I’d been looking at my hands as I explained. I looked up, and he was now sitting beside me, his chest still bare, the dark hair on his tanned arms soft under my fingertips as I reached out to stroke it. “In the long run, it was better that way,” I finished. “Mom was too tired or remote to smother me. I’m not sure which. But I flourished anyway.”

“You did.” He put his arms around me and held me close. “And nobody appreciates the way you flourished more than I do.” Then, despite having made love just a little while ago, we’d fallen back against the sheets, and the conversation about who belonged and who didn’t came to an end.

Now traffic picked up and I started forward again. That night and afterward, Teo and my parents had gotten along well. He knew how to ask questions, and he knew how to listen. But he was also a storyteller who could do the voices of his subjects perfectly, and my father, in particular, had loved hearing about his job. If my family had been emotional enough to give a nod of approval, Teo would have gotten one.

Then everything changed.

I pulled up to the Gulf Sands gatehouse and gave yet another new guard my name and status. Inside my parents’ house I called my mother’s name and followed her voice. I found both of them outside enjoying the sunshine in the walled courtyard.

“I think somebody’s starting to feel better,” I told my father, kissing his cheek and leaning in for a hug.

“If your mother would just feed me, I’d be up and around in no time.”

“I brought you chocolate chip muffins.” I held up a finger as my mother started to protest. “Vegan. And banana bread. Plus a couple of quarts of amazing lentil and vegetable soups from the natural food market.”

My mother’s expression softened. “That was kind.”

“That’s me. Kind, generous, thoughtful.” I smiled. “How is everybody?”

Dad never wants to worry anybody, and Mom doesn’t like to admit defeat. So I took their “things are fine” speeches with a grain of salt. I knew they were anything but.

“Your mother tells me your sister has been in touch with you,” Dad said, after the ritual questions and answers. “Next time she calls, tell her to call me directly. I don’t like this. Nobody at work’s heard from her, either.”