The waiter came with water and bread and took their orders, returning quickly with their wine.

“When in France,” said Lucy, allowing Bill to fill her glass. Elizabeth declined, which worried Lucy. “You aren’t thinking of going back to work, are you?” she asked.

“Not today, Mom, but I’m definitely going tomorrow.”

“What’s the rush?” asked Bill.

“Lapointe said you should take a leave of absence for a week or two, for your own safety,” said Lucy.

“He didn’t say that at all, Mom. He said I should take time to recover my equilibrium, and I don’t need that. I am équilibrée. No problem. I didn’t like Sylvie, and I’m not going to pretend I’m broken up about her death.”

There was a pause in the conversation while the waiter delivered their dishes, but as soon as he was gone, Lucy spoke up, leaning across the table for emphasis. “Look, for your safety, I think you should stay with us. I don’t think you should be alone. And I definitely think the farther you stay from the Cavendish, the better.”

Elizabeth speared a piece of tuna and chewed it thoughtfully. “Look, I know you’re concerned about me, but I can take care of myself. The last thing I want to do is hang around with your weird friends.” Elizabeth caught herself and apologized. “Sorry, Mom.” Then she continued, “I’ve finally got a place to myself, and I can’t wait to claim it. I’ve been thinking that if I work just a little overtime, I can afford the rent all by myself and I won’t need to get a roommate.” She poked at the salad with her fork. “I’m just not cut out for sharing, I guess. I really want my own place.”

Lucy caught Bill’s eye, prompting him to deliver a fatherly ultimatum and getting a slight shrug in return, and scowled back at him. It was always like this. He came on tough at first, but then he’d cave, unable to deny his children anything, no matter how misguided.

“I think you’re making a big mistake,” said Lucy, “but you’re all grown up, and I suppose you can take care of yourself. You’d better be extra careful, though.” She popped a tiny white onion into her mouth. “So what are your plans for the apartment? We’re happy to help, you know. We’ve got plenty of time on our hands. Do you want to paint?”

“That’s a great idea,” said Elizabeth, pleased that her mother had changed her tune. “But first things first. I have to pack up Sylvie’s stuff.”

“I can help you with that,” offered Lucy, sensing an opportunity to investigate.

“I’ll go to BHV and pick up some paint chips,” said Bill. “What colors were you thinking of?”

“Something neutral,” said Elizabeth, grinning. “Anything would be better than that green!”