The room was small but cheerfully decorated, thoughtful, Alice put in her notes. There were books in neat stacks on the floor, a small, tightly made bed. The walls were painted a bright yellow with blue polka dots.

“We did it together,” Quinn said. “Me and Maddie. The dots.”

There were pictures of them all over the house: Quinn and toddler Maddie, baby Maddie by herself. Alice thought about these often after. She wondered if Quinn had had them printed after Maddie had been taken from her, if she had spent whole days after she’d been released from rehab taping all those pictures of her daughter onto cardboard, onto one long piece of yarn hung in the hall.

Henry doesn’t ask about her clients, and she seldom talks about them, least of all these two. At work, when she overhears her colleagues swapping stories, it always feels a little gross; it’s strange, though, jarring, to hold these moments, these other people’s maladies, to have no way to get them out.

“The bird is almost ready,” Kate says.

“Smells so good,” says Tess.

Martin comes in and puts his hand on Tess’s back, kisses her briefly. “What can I do?” he says.

“Sweet potatoes,” says his sister.

Kate pulls the spinach casserole out of the oven, and Tess replaces it with a cookie sheet of brussels sprouts, of red, orange, and purple carrots all seasoned and oiled, fresh thyme and basil crushed on top.

“What a day,” says Martin.

“I’m just so happy,” Kate says. “I’m so glad everyone is safe.”

They all look at one another, and Alice moves so she can see through the opening toward the children and tries hard not to answer, For now.

Tess runs her fingers through her wet hair, pulls it up, and puts on lotion, one for underneath her eyes and another for the rest of her face. She swipes mascara on in case Kate wants to take more pictures. She wears black pants, a green turtleneck. She wrangles both the children, freshly bathed and flushed and easy, into the clothes Kate bought for them. She fastens Colin’s bow tie, zips Stella into her dress, brushes their hair.

Colin grabs Tess’s cheeks and holds her, so close that she can smell the sour of his breath. He looks at her to the point that she gets hot and wants to pull away. “I like your face,” he says.

She grabs him back, brushing her lips across his forehead. “I like yours too,” she says.