“Mrs. Floyd, hi. It’s good to see you again.” Minerva gestures to me. “And you remember Alex Van Ness. And this man here is Morris Arbuckle. He’s our friendly supervisor.”

“Why are there three of you? There weren’t three last time.” Mrs. Floyd shifts her grip on Buster. He doesn’t seem to have grown much. His little legs are clamped around his mother’s waist. I can’t tell if his arms are dirty or just tanned.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” Morris says. “I’m just tagging along.”

“Can we come in?” Minerva leans into Buster’s face like she’s going to boop him on the nose with a forefinger, she’s that fun. “This won’t take long.”

Evelyn steps to one side, and the three of us file past the pantry shelves, which are conspicuously well stocked now, and into the long, thin body of the house. I notice the smell. It’s changed. It’s citrusy, the kind of acidic tang in cheap cleaning solvents that clings to the back of the throat. It’s masking all the former sourness of neglect. Aside from a couple of dishes in the sink and an open packet of granola that has spilled a little along the countertop, the house appears tidy, but my gut tells me there’s more to the story.

Evelyn points to the kitchen table, the same one we sat at back at the start of June. This time it’s clean and polished, not a soiled baby wipe in sight. We all sit down, Minerva and Morris on one side of the table, Evelyn and I on the other. Buster wriggles in her arms, and she deposits him onto the linoleum floor, where he sits with his legs stretched out straight. I look around for a toy.

“My husband’s not here,” Evelyn says. “He’s buying diapers.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I thought we’d found a time when we could all be here,” I say.

Morris keeps glancing around the room, just like I am. We’re checking out standards, trying to be covert.

“Yeah, but something came up. The diapers. He had to step out.”

“Well, we’ll just chat with you, then.” Minerva says, “Buster’s doing well, isn’t he?”

Evelyn coughs, long and rattling. “He’s all right. He’s doing good.”

“He looks healthy!” Minerva smiles at me. I told you, she’s saying, oh ye of little faith.

“Is he meeting all of his developmental milestones?” I ask.

“What?” Evelyn replies.

“He’s approaching them,” Minerva says.

“While we’re waiting for your husband,” I say, “do you mind if I just use your washroom quickly?” I stand up, and so does Mrs. Floyd.

Minerva fumes in her seat.

“No, it’s fine, Mrs. Floyd—you stay here. I know where it is.”