Ruth shrugs. “She just started speaking less and less. She seemed sadder and sadder.” Ruth blinks. “Which I suppose I mistakenly interpreted as adolescence. And then she wasn’t speaking at all.” But when that really was, she can’t be sure. In her mind, the beginning of Isabelle’s official silence was the day that she and Wilson were called again into school and informed that Isabelle wouldn’t speak there, either. In a way, it was Mrs. Mason who had made it official: Are you aware that Isabelle is not speaking? It was in Mrs. Mason’s office that everything solidified, where their lives switched tracks: no speaking meant no more school, which meant no more work for Ruth, though the work of poring through psychology books and dragging Isabelle from one shrink to the next has become work enough. Ruth swallows. “You know, I can’t even remember the last word she said. I don’t remember the exact day.”

Dr. Steingold clears his throat and flattens his lips sympathetically. He grunts, tapping his pen against his mouth.

Ruth sighs. Her shoulders feel heavy. She is tired. She listens to Dr. Steingold flipping again through papers and focuses on the wall hangings behind him. There are a number of diplomas and framed awards of merit; there is a painting of a pear against a blue background that might be a cloudless sky; there is a black-and-white photograph of the doctor as a very young man in front of a low, thatch-roofed hut, the dust from the ground swirling in the wind around his feet.

Africa.

Ruth sits up suddenly and reaches for her purse. She rifles through it for Isabelle’s drawing, the one she promised Wilson she would show the shrink. Maybe, she thinks, maybe Wilson is right. “Doctor,” she says.

Dr. Steingold looks up with an expression of surprise at the new, hopeful tone in Ruth’s voice. Ruth holds the picture out for the doctor to see. He takes it from her and looks at it.

“Interesting,” he says. He looks up. “Isabelle did this?”

“Yes,” Ruth says. “Just last weekend. Do you think it means anything?”

“Art is always an important method of communication. And in this case it is even more important, since we don’t have the benefit of spoken communication.”

“And do you think she’s trying to communicate something?”

“Whether consciously or not, certainly there is meaning in everything we make.” He refolds the drawing and hands it out to Ruth.

“Wouldn’t you like to keep it, then? Study it, or whatever?”

Dr. Steingold breathes out through his nose and retracts his hand. He tucks the drawing into Isabelle’s file. “Mrs. Carter,” he says, and he looks her in the eye. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. You wait.”