Wanting the space between us gone, I loop my arm through hers and lean just that little bit her way. “How is he about that now?”

“Expectations? Good, actually. He has mellowed, Mal. Blame it on memory if you want, but he doesn’t hold grudges the way he used to. And as for Sunny Side Up? He doesn’t know what to do with someone who owns an eatery, so he’s open-minded.”

“Does he ask you questions about it?”

“Sometimes, like how do I know to fry his eggs over easy or where do I get these terrific mugs. He doesn’t ask about the money part of it. I’m not sure he can relate to that.”

“To running a business?” I ask in surprise. “Business law was his specialty in private practice.”

“I think it’s just the fact that I’m doing it. He still relates to business, at least, to hear his remarks when he’s going through the Wall Street Journal.”

“So he does read it?”

“Well, he must if he’s able to repeat what he does. He still gets it, Mal. Just not,” she hesitates, “all the time.” Her back stiffens, eyes sharpen. “But I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. This is not cause for dragging him to an Alzheimer’s specialist. He’s seventy-two. Everyone who’s seventy-two forgets things. By the time you reach that age there’s so much junk crammed in the brain that stuff just overflows and is lost. Dad does not have Alzheimer’s disease. I don’t want him labeled that way. So if that’s why you’re here—”

“It’s not, Annie, not.”

“But you’re worried that I’m not taking care of him.”

“No. I’m worried that he’s doing things behind your back.”

“Like buying a gun? I told you Jack was dreaming that up, but okay,” she nods, “I searched the house anyway. I checked his bedroom and the kitchen. I looked inside planters in the conservatory and under cushions in the living room and behind hats and gloves in the hall closet. I looked behind books—I’m telling you, I looked everywhere I could think of where he might have hidden a gun, but there was nothing. Nothing.”

I glance at the hatch. “Not up there?”

“Especially not there.” She seems wounded that I suggested it. “That’s the first place I checked, because he likes going up. I think there’s something about the oldness of what’s there, or maybe the smell of time, and his diaries, he loves reading those. This isn’t the first time he’s brought a few down.” Her voice has risen. “So, yeah, it was the first place I checked. That would be an obvious place to hide a gun, right? But there isn’t one up there. And here’s another thing, Mallory. He’s so forgetful that I honestly think if he stashed a gun somewhere, he’d forget where it is.”

Which returns us to his mental health. “There’s medication for that.”

Her eyes flare. “Not. Alzheimer’s.”