It’s you, he thought, not knowing what he meant. He leaned out of the picture’s periphery and she kept looking at him.

I know you, said the faint smile around her lips.

“Who’s she?” Kennet said. He didn’t touch the picture. He didn’t dare even point at it, lest the girl’s sharp looks cut him.

“That’s my little cousin,” Marta said. “Astrid. She’s about your age.”

The look Kennet gave Marta was bewildered, hovering on the edge of accusatory. How could she have been chatting away about trips and journeys, about hair nets and Texas and cows, all the while this picture, this girl was in the room with them? Marta crossed her arms and her chin tilted, as if she understood.

Kennet swallowed hard and looked once more at the photograph. Why didn’t Marta say so? Why didn’t she tell him?

“Tomorrow, pet,” Marta said. “I have lots of stories and we have lots of time.”

A Match to the Side

During lunch on the afternoon of Astrid’s arrival, Minor followed Kennet’s gaze across the table to Astrid and back again. Then he smiled, but not a teasing smile. A wily smile, accompanied by a deliberate wink. That night, when he and Kennet were dressing for dinner, Minor opened his closet and pulled out a blue collared shirt.

“Here.”

“What’s this?”

Minor hooked the hanger on Kennet’s finger. “It’s called a shirt. Wear it.”

Kennet frowned. Minor had a natty wardrobe, but he shared it with the same reluctance with which he shared his first name. “This is your favorite.”

“I know. Don’t spill anything on it or I’ll kill you. Are those the best shoes you got?”

“You know they are.”

“Go shave, for crying out loud. You look like the wild man of Borneo.”

“What are you up to, Minor mine?”

Minor cast his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. “I’m helping you. Go. Scrub your fingernails.”

“Yes, mother.”

He felt sleek and fine with Minor’s best shirt on his back. Not that it mattered, because he barely got a word with Astrid during that first dinner.

The Fiskare children knew two kinds of evening meals: grand dinner or nursery supper. The latter simply meant eating in the kitchen, while grand dinner was on a level with Thanksgiving or Christmas or other momentous occasions. Like the company of a beautiful, thrilling cousin from Brazil.