“What the hell happened to your hand?” I asked.

He froze for a nanosecond before turning it over, out of view. “It must’ve happened when I hit that creep bothering Teddy.”

In that moment, I knew Theo was lying to me. His knuckles were a little dinged up, but that didn’t explain the scarlet wound on his palm. There was an uncomfortable moment when I couldn’t help but stare, examining an old scar slithering under his French cuff. I could only catch the edge of it, but it was enough to remind me of the profile my sister had written about him. That was how they’d met in the first place. The article had a weird little anecdote in it about how Theo had been mauled by a zoo animal—a lion or a tiger—as a child. I made a mental note to look it up as soon as I could.

In the meantime, I had questions, but I didn’t know where to start. “That was a good service this morning,” I ventured.

“Really?” He frowned. “You thought so?”

“No, I hated it. But Caro would’ve appreciated it.”

Theo sighed. “That was what my father thought. He planned every last detail.”

“How was lunch?”

“It was like a circle of Dante’s hell but with worse company. My father arranged for religieuses au chocolat for dessert,” he said, referring to a tiered eclair that I couldn’t imagine anyone but Caro liking. “Caroline’s favorite. It was horrible.”

“I’m glad I skipped it.”

“It was surreal to sit there and watch a roomful of people having a wonderful time. This was just another party for them.” He stared out the window.

“I don’t know how Caro tolerated people like that.” In that moment I remembered why I’d always liked Theo: we bonded over our shared misanthropy. “Was my father there?”

“He was.” He turned his head toward me. “Was that why you didn’t come?”

I shrugged. “Part of it.”

“Even now, you two aren’t speaking?” Theo asked.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“I haven’t spoken to my father much in the past couple of years,” Theo said. “But since Caroline died, I’ve been pulled back into his orbit.”

“Why did you and your dad stop speaking?”

“He hasn’t forgiven me for leaving the family business,” Theo said. “He still calls it ‘abandonment.’ What about you?”

I really didn’t want to get into it, especially right then. “My father and I never got along.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but it would do for now.

“You didn’t move out of your parents’ house at fifteen because of that,” Theo said. “It was his drinking, wasn’t it?”

“Caro told you about that?”

“I know he was abusive,” Theo said. “Not to you or Caroline—at least, not according to Caroline. But toward your mother.”