But Madeline is looking up at me, her eyes wide behind the owlish glasses. The light reflects off the lenses. “Go on,” she says. “I think I know where you’re going with this. Maybe it’s healthier than hanging out at a grave in the middle of the night. I don’t know.”

“Did I tell you I do that?”

“You did.”

I check her face for any sign of judgment or mockery, but neither is there. She looks attentive, genuine. Curious. Just like she always did in class when I held her attention. I could so easily hold an entire roomful’s attention on my very best days. And how very good that always felt to me.

I tell her what I saw in Sophia and her husband. How appealing it was to see a young couple so different from the way I was at that point in my life.

“They were my opposites,” I say. “Like in a comic book or a science fiction movie where the hero has an evil double who is the exact opposite of him in every way, except they look the same. That’s what I thought when I watched Sophia and her husband. They were everything I had been and never would be again.”

Madeline nods. She takes off her wool winter hat, and the red hair flops across her shoulders and face. She brushes loose strands away, clearing her vision. “I used to do the same thing. Not with Sophia, but with families when I was a kid. I think I told you my dad died when I was three.”

“You mentioned it the other night.”

“I also told you that night at Dubliners. That last night. You were so trashed, you probably don’t remember. After Dad was gone, my mom went through a series of guys. Some were okay. Most were shits. It wasn’t good. Not at all. I ran away a couple of times. That was my way of coping. Not really a plan . . . Then I discovered reading and writing.” She slides her gloves off and reaches up for her eyebrow. “I’ve got to stop doing this.” She puts her hands down, under the table, shifting her weight so she can sit on them and prevent the nervous tic. “I’d go to my friends’ houses and just marvel at what it was like. Two parents in the house. Everything working. Nobody screaming. Nobody drunk or on drugs. No one pushing anyone around. Who would have thought the most everyday things would be the most miraculous? Food on the table, someone to help with homework. A man in the house who wasn’t a total shit.”

She brings her hands out, starts to lift one to her forehead again, then closes it into a fist.

“No,” she says. “Stop.”