She turned and looked at Spoon again. “That is all I know.”

“What are you talking about?” I could hear the anger in my voice. “The first time I saw you, you stepped outside and told me point-blank that my father was alive. Don’t you remember?”

She nodded. “I do,” she said softly.

“Well, if you didn’t know, why did you say that?”

She closed her eyes. “When I heard about your father’s car accident, I cried. We get used to death and costs. I’ve explained that to you before. But your father had saved so many. Your mother too. They dedicated their lives to our cause and angered many bad people. But still, when I first heard about your father, I believed that it was just a tragic accident. I had no idea that Luther was involved.”

“Luther?” I said. “That’s his name?”

She took the photograph from my hand. “I should have known better, Mickey. Accidents happen, of course, but with people like us, odds are that there is something more nefarious at work. I was wrong.”

“What made you change your mind?” I asked.

She looked at me.

“What made you suspect this Luther guy was involved?”

The old lady smiled, and for a second, I could see the child that she once was. “You don’t believe in magic, do you, Mickey?”

Oh, please, I thought. “No.”

“Neither do I. I’ve seen too much suffering to believe in the superstitious. And yet . . .”

I waited. When she didn’t speak again, I tried a new avenue. “Who is this Luther? What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

She shrugged. “We worry about the rescue, not the name.”

“But my father rescued him?”

“Yes.”

“And then you thought—”

“That your father died in a car accident.”

“So what made you change your mind?” I asked again.

“You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it either. And yet I know what I know. I don’t believe in magic or superstition. But I believe that there are some things we cannot yet comprehend—that there are things beyond our capabilities to understand. Sometimes, explaining how the universe works is like teaching a lion to read. Reading is real. The lion is real. But he’s never going to read.”

I shook off the analogy and yet I got it. “So what happened?” I asked.

“My refrigerator broke.”

“Huh?”

“It’s an old refrigerator,” she said. “It hums so loudly. But I’ve had it a long time. I like it. Even the noise comforts me.”

I tried not to sigh.

“Miss Sobek?”

“Lizzy.”

“Pardon?”

“Call me Lizzy.”

“Okay, great. Lizzy, I was asking about this Luther guy and my father.”

“And I’m telling you. You need to be patient, Mickey.”

I said nothing.

“Where was I?”

“You loved your loud refrigerator,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.