The light changes, and everything gets dark as they cross the park. She lies down again beside Maggie. She strokes the dog absently, staring up through the window at the topmost branches of trees reaching against the orange sky, and she is just getting dizzy when the car comes to a stop. She can tell from the arched streetlamp in her view that they have come to the other edge of the park. The blinker is on again, signaling their right-hand turn, and she clucks twice, then stops; she does not want to irritate her mother. If Jimmy really is at home, as she has overheard he might be, Isabelle wants her mother to be in the best mood she can be in. She puts her feet up against the ceiling and watches her dangling laces sway as the car resumes its motion, bringing them closer to home. Her socks are striped, red and green for Christmas. It’s Christmas, after all, she thinks. Even if he hasn’t been invited, Jimmy has no one else to spend the holiday with, and it seems unkind not to let him stay.

She rolls herself upright as her father stops the car in front of their building. In the front seat, her parents are looking at each other, neither one of them reaching for door handles or unbuckling seat belts. She looks from one of them to the other, waiting. Her father takes a breath, as if to speak, but her mother breaks in. “Ne dis rien,” she snaps.

“Ruth—”

“Eh!”

Her father shakes his head, unfastens himself, and gets out of the car. Her mother follows suit. Isabelle waits in the way back for someone to lift the tailgate; she can see out the window her parents discussing, planning. Her mother’s mood is not good, she can tell. Finally, the tailgate whines upward and she scrambles from the car. “Hey, my friend!” She looks up; it is the new doorman, Brian, who has released her. She smiles at him gratefully.

“Isabelle.” She turns at the sound of her father’s voice. “Why don’t you go with your mother and take the dog across the street?” Isabelle puts a hand on her hip. She isn’t stupid, she thinks. She’s going to be banished across the street while her father goes upstairs and gets rid of Jimmy. She frowns and shakes her head.

“Isabelle,” her father says. “I need you to cooperate.”

Brian leans down to her. “I think you might be spoiling a Christmas surprise,” he says in a low voice. “Better go with your mom.”

She swallows; she does not want to embarrass herself in front of Brian; she does not want to be scolded.