When he first took his place by the window, he was alone in the parlor. Now, without him noticing, the family has joined him. Rosalie is on the green settee with her sewing basket, tightening the buttons on one of Father’s shirts. Little Joe sits on her feet, leaning back against her skirt, his thumb in his mouth. Asia has gotten the dominoes from the bookshelf and is trying to talk Johnny into a game. A game of anything with Asia has only two possible outcomes. She will win and crow. She will lose and rage. Mother is standing on the rug by the large stone fireplace, trying to poke the fire awake. “Someday someone will say something really important to you, something you really need to hear,” she tells Edwin.

“Don’t step in that hole,” Johnny suggests.

“Look out below!” says Asia.

“That gun is loaded.”

They’re laughing at him. He can’t decide how much he minds.

“Why are you drawing birds on the window?” Joe asks. He points. The pane has fogged again and the outline of Edwin’s hand returned.

“It’s not a bird.” Edwin wipes it away, pulls the lace between himself and his family. It’s a mere gesture towards privacy. The lace is too open to conceal him.

There’s a man on the street carrying a large and heavy trunk. He makes it a few feet, puts the trunk down, mops the moisture from his face. Picks it up again and staggers a dozen steps forward. Puts it down. Once when Edwin was out with Father, they’d seen a man trying unsuccessfully to roll a barrel uphill. “Sisyphus,” Father had said. “Sisyphus in a cutaway coat.” The man steps out of Edwin’s sight. Edwin turns back to the parlor.

Johnny has, very wisely, refused the game. Asia throws a domino at him, close to his head. If she’d wanted to hit him, she would have. He’s not that far away. “Go to your room, Asia,” Mother says. “Right now.”

But Asia is only getting started. She rises from the floor—her scowling face, her angry eyes, her wild, black hair. “I will not,” she says.

Mother’s tone remains patient. “It’s time you started learning to be the young woman you’re becoming. Look at Rose. She never pouts and sulks.”

“Who wants to be like Rose?” Asia says. “Nobody.” Asked and answered.