“Those kinds of secrets,” said Milo, “every family has them. But being honest doesn’t make you a traitor. Not now, that’s for sure.”

Silence.

“You want justice for Desi, Ricki. Would your parents have had a problem with that?”

No answer.

“Would they, Ricki?”

Slow head shake.

“Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know anything,” she said, “I just feel it. Always have.”

“Apart from your parents clamming up, what gave you the feeling?”

“For a start, Desi’s books. He had these counterculture books in his room. How to build homemade weapons, how to disappear and hide your identity, techniques of revenge, The Anarchist Cookbook. A whole shelf of that, above his computer.”

“Your parents were okay with that.”

“What I told you was true. Mom and Dad were all about developing our own sense of morality. Though one time I did hear Dad make a comment, being a firefighter he still had that law-and-order thing going on. I overheard him telling Desi those books would’ve been branded as treasonous in other societies and Desi answering that those societies deserved to disappear because without free speech nothing mattered. And Dad coming back that free speech was important but it ended where someone’s chin met someone’s fist. And Desi ending the argument the way he usually did. By being charming. ‘You’re absolutely right, Pops.’ Dad laughed and it never came up again. That was my brother, all honey, no vinegar. Unlike me, he never wasted energy arguing with Mom and Dad. He was the easy kid.”

“No overt rebel,” said Milo. “So he got to hold on to his treasonous books.”

“And his foldouts from Hustler, no matter how gynecologic and how much Mom considered herself a feminist. And his Che poster and whatever else he wanted. I’m sure Mom and Dad never imagined him doing anything more with those books than reading.”

“Until the fire.”

“The weekend after the fire, I was home for the weekend. Getting my laundry done, Ms. Independence. Mom and Dad were at work but Desi was home so I knocked on his door. He took a really long time to unlock, didn’t seem thrilled to see me, wasn’t the least bit warm. Which was odd, generally we’d share a big hug. But this time he looked flustered, like I’d interrupted something. My first thought was something adolescent—you know what I mean.”

“Those Hustler foldouts.”