Again I giggle and shake my head as I eagerly dig into my ravioli.

“I spoke to Andreea today,” Micah says as he sips his wine. “She says hello.”

It’s not a passing comment. I shift uncomfortably in my chair. I’ve never actually been introduced to Andreea, but I’ve heard about her.

I’ve dreamed about her too.

“She’s doing well,” Micah adds. “She’s getting married.”

“Anyone you know?” I ask as I sink my fork back into the pasta.

“Of course, I introduced them. He’s my lawyer. It’s perfect, really. He walks the straight and narrow, but he’s familiar with my world. He’s not shocked by it, and he’s never going to say a word about anything to anyone. And I can protect him, and her, if it ever comes to it. I can keep them both close.”

“You know, she may not want you to keep her that close. She’s an adult, not a child.”

“She was legally an adult when she got herself locked up too. Adults are just as idiotic as children, and frequently just as dependent. Sometimes I think the only difference between the two groups is that kids have legitimate excuses for their ignorance while adults just invent them.”

I smile and nod my agreement. The white wine in my glass is reflecting the light perfectly, making the color as warm as the room. I’ve always preferred the shadows of dimly lit restaurants. The hints of mystery found in a flickering candle put me at ease. I don’t live in the light. I don’t know what to do with it.

“Your mother had such an influence on her,” Micah continues as he twirls his own linguine around his fork. “Andreea may be blood, but she’s just not cut out for my line of work, and my brother certainly didn’t raise her for it. But when I tried to set her straight she wouldn’t listen. But your mother? She was able to get through to her. All those college courses she convinced Andreea to take while she was in the pen . . . Andreea’s got her degree now and everything. I’ll always be grateful for that.”

I take a sip of my wine and glance toward the windows.

“I think your mum needed Andreea too, since you had stopped visiting her by then . . .”

“We’ve already talked about this,” I say irritably. I finish my wine and reach for the bottle, but Micah takes hold of it first and with a patient smile refills my glass.

“I’ve brought it up before,” he says, “but we’ve never actually talked about it. You’ve never wanted to.”

“Yes,” I say coolly. “Some things never change.”