“Boyfriend, then?” Harry thought she was trying to sound casual, but she punctuated the question with an odd laugh, and her flushed cheeks had become almost mottled with red.

“No, I don’t have one of those, either.”

“I hope I didn’t . . . I just wondered because I thought maybe Paul—”

“Yes, Paul is gay.”

“I’m prying.”

“No. It’s fine.”

They were silent for a moment. Harry asked, “Did my father wonder?”

“Wonder what?”

“Did he wonder if I was gay? Is that why you were asking?”

“If he did wonder, he never brought it up with me. And honestly, you knew him. More interested in what was happening in one of his books than what was happening around him. And he wouldn’t have cared. You know that, too.”

Harry finished his dessert. Alice was drinking the dregs of the wine, and rubbing her finger absentmindedly on the wooden table, her eyes slightly glazed over. In the light from the flickering candle, she looked not a whole lot older than Harry. Her skin, except for around her eyes, was entirely unlined. She tapped her finger on the table and shifted her gaze, catching Harry watching her.

“You look tired,” he said. “Let me clean up, since you cooked the dinner.”

She sat up straight. “No, I’ll clean. I want to. You can help me bring the dishes into the kitchen, but that’s it. I insist.”

Harry did as he was told, leaving Alice cleaning dishes in the large double sink. He said good night and was turning to go when she reached out a hand. He took it and felt a slight tug, and she leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek. Her skin was slightly damp from the steam of the hot water. “Thank God for you, Harry. I don’t know what . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“Thanks again for dinner, Alice.”

“And, Harry, one more thing. I talked with John today and he really needs you to help him out in the store tomorrow. Could you . . . Do you mind?”

Harry said he didn’t mind.

Back in his room, he cracked a window and tried to get back into the Ed McBain book, but he kept thinking about Alice, her damp cheek on his as she kissed him good night. He also kept thinking about her refusal to discuss what had happened with her husband. Was it because she knew more than she was saying, or was she simply someone who didn’t want to think about anything unpleasant? He realized how little he knew about her. Was it because he’d never asked, or was it because his father had never offered? And now here he was, living for a summer with this strange woman, and she was practically all the family he had left.