“Why is this so hard for you!” I burst out. “This is my nephew! We babysit for your niece all the time.”

Oliver looks momentarily startled.

“I’m not complaining,” he snaps back. “I’m saying it’s a bad idea. Besides, one evening of babysitting is different from a week of full-time parenting.”

A week is how long Dennis is supposed to be away. I guess Oliver, unlike Mom, isn’t expecting Abigail to walk in the door tomorrow.

“Good to know how you feel,” I mutter. “I’m glad eighteen years of full-time parenting wouldn’t intimidate you or anything.”

Oliver gives me this betrayed look then, as though what I’ve said is cheating. Maybe it was.

“Obviously this isn’t our kid we’re talking about, Gillian.”

I look around at the blank white walls. The tired-looking futon in the corner.

No, this isn’t our kid we’re talking about.

As if I needed reminding.

*

The morning is windy and overcast, and sporadic gusts buffet the grass by the highway. Oliver turns the radio to his country music station.

“Can we not?” I say, even though our Car Rule Number One is that the driver picks the playlist.

He gives me a long-suffering look and turns the dial back, and the music stops abruptly.

It’s over twenty-four hours now since Abigail left home. I called her number again this morning, and once more before we got in the car.

“Oliver…” I say. “We think she’s fine, right? I mean—she’s safe, right? This is just one of her little things.”

He looks over at me.

“Okay, no one seems to be saying it,” he says. “Gillian, it seems pretty clear to me she’s having an affair.”

I blink back at him.

“An affair? Abigail?”

Come to think of it I don’t know why that idea feels so surprising, but it does.

Oliver shakes his head. “I mean, come on. This ‘somewhere else I have to be’ stuff…what does that say to you? I guarantee you.”

I look at him, uncertain. I guess it is the most obvious assumption. Maybe it’s just some kind of naivety on my part to think otherwise.

Oliver looks at me.

“What, you just can’t imagine any woman being unsatisfied with Dennis?”

I roll my eyes.

“She’ll be okay,” Oliver says, and glances at me. “It’s your sister. She’ll be fine.”

I guess I should try finding that thought reassuring.