“Maybe it’s me. Robin thinks it’s me, I’m sure he does. Whenever Beth came by with her kids, I was rude, or I made some excuse so they would go. I couldn’t stand it.”

I bent down and rubbed Homer’s neck. I felt the quiver of his skin under the fur, the sun’s heat on my back. Norma was watching the white flake of a sailboat out on the lake, her hands around one raised knee. I straightened up.

“Something else happened this week.”

She turned to me the troubled eyes of someone who had never known Maddy and was incapable of missing her.

“Do you want to hear? You can say no. I’ve dumped a lot on you already . . .”

She shook her head and then nodded, dazed with secondhand calamity.

“Remember I told you about Maddy’s father? I hadn’t seen or heard from him since I found out I was pregnant?”

“He’s contacted you.”

“No.”

“You’ve contacted him.”

“No.”

“Well, what then?”

“Maddy did. I found the emails this week.”

Norma’s hand moved across the tabletop and covered mine as easily as she had examined my nail polish the week before.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” I said. “Why did she have to go behind my back?”

“Is that the worst thing? That she didn’t tell you?”

Wasn’t it obvious? The past and Maddy’s part in it were a sealed box. She would not be following me around, begging me to open it and look inside.

Norma tried again. “Well, what were the emails like?”

“I don’t know,” I said sullenly. “I was too shocked to take them all in.” This was true, but I had seen enough. The salutations and sign-offs, the familiarity, the occasional cajoling tone, left no doubt it was an exchange over many months: a two-way street, a relationship.

“Well, do you have them with you?” asked practical Norma.

I gave her an aggrieved look. “Yes.”

“Well, do you want to look at them now?”

Did she have to start every sentence with well? There was nothing to do but open my bag. The zipper made a tearing sound. Homer stirred; Norma patted him down. I set the green folder on the table between us. Norma’s hands stayed in her lap. I pulled out the top page and handed it to her. Then another, and another and another. I gave her the first six letters. They did not take long to read. She laid the last one facedown on the table and raised her glistening eyes. I was as dry as could be.

“You get the gist. Her last one was in September. I don’t know if he kept writing after that.”

“Did she tell him she was sick?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh!” Norma moaned. “What a terrible punishment!”

“He’s probably thinking she’ll contact him again one of these days.”