Four—no, five, he indicated, then held up two fingers for the second word. Unlike Max, Henry, who was shy around small groups of people, was not shy when he was performing, and though he could have mimed “birth” in any number of less dramatic ways, he chose to lie down on the rug, inches from Alma’s feet, lift and spread his knees, and with his hands make a kind of gushing motion from his crotch. Max and Clara howled with laughter. Effie, not laughing, focused on guessing the word. “Baby,” she said. He shook his hand: Sort of. He made as if to wrangle a baby from between his legs, grimacing in pain, and when she got it he said, “Yes,” and leapt to his feet—hopping, into it now. Clara had fallen from Max’s lap onto the floor. Fifth word. Hand to his chest, back rigid. “Flag,” Effie said. “Allegiance.” No, forget that. He paced. He indicated a cone growing up from his head, looked stern, made a whipping motion, all of which only confused Effie, who muttered, “A birth … Birth allegiance…” until she got it—“Birth of a Nation!”—just as Max called time.

“We get the point, right?” Effie said.

“You get the point,” Max assured her.

“That was simply amazing,” Clara said, leaning back against Max’s knees. “Henry, you surprise me.”

Henry sat back down beside Effie and hugged her shoulders. Across the way he saw Alma watching him. When he caught her gaze she held it, and he gave her a thumbs-up—lamely. She laughed, and returned it.

They played four more rounds, until there were no more papers in the hat, though by the third round it would have been mathematically impossible for Clara and Max to win, as Effie pointed out twice. “Fourteen to six,” she declared at the end, and Max said, “There’s no need to rub it in.”

They made more drinks and settled in. Effie, thrilled with victory, rested her legs over Henry’s lap and pulled an afghan over them. Once again Alma put on her shoes, bid them all good night, and slipped out the front door. Max stoked the fire.

“Where do you think she goes?” Effie asked.

Max shrugged, not looking away from the fire. “She’s an adult, she can take care of herself.”

“Clara says you’re her guardian,” Effie said, and Max looked at her in surprise. Her cheeks were flushed. She was getting forward. But before Max could answer, Clara said, “I was telling her what a good brother you’ve been.”

He put the poker back in its stand. “I don’t know about that.”

Clara had moved to the smaller sofa perpendicular to the main one, and she’d drawn her legs up, obviously making a space for Max. But he remained standing. Effie watched him, waiting for him to go on.