But my mind wasn’t on music. It was on Blake. Like the news about his upcoming bid for office, the Judge’s anecdote about him and his friend wasn’t shocking, really. I suspected I’d known the truth about him all along, though in the face of Wallis’s happiness, I hadn’t wanted to believe it. Wallis would be crushed. But something else was bothering me more. “It was Jessica who apologized to her friend,” I said. Judge Reed tilted her head, quizzical. “And I’d bet my inheritance—if I still had it—on the fact that not one of those other boys apologized. You might get an apology from Blake if someone calls him on it now that he’s running...”

“That’s just the way it is.” Aunt Jane was more alert now, her voice that of a woman who’d gotten her second wind. “Men misbehave and the women apologize for it.”

“Or women try to make excuses for them,” said the Judge. “I’ve spent enough years on the bench to have seen plenty of that.”

I took a sip—all right, a gulp—of my drink. I needed it. “Here’s what it is,” I said. “Here’s what gets me about this. Blake doesn’t even want it. The seat, I mean. I know him well enough to know that with perfect, crystal clear certainty. He might want it in the way I want that bowl of pretzel thins there. He only wants it because it’s in front of him.”

“It’s easier for men to take things, isn’t it?” Judge Reed asked, observing me as she might a novice lawyer pleading her case.

“Take things,” I said, thinking of my father. Then, thinking again of Blake: “And be handed things.”

Judge Reed was quiet. Then a grin, wide and disarming. “Girl,” she announced. “You should run for office.”

Twenty-Three

Wallis was up early, with the sun, which blazed into our room gradually, then all at once, for neither of us had remembered to shut the curtains the night before. I kept my eyes closed, drowsy, thirsty, headachy, everything I didn’t want to be. Wallis padded around, in and out of the bathroom, back in bed and out of it. Suitcases were opened. Zippers and snaps were fiddled with. After some time, when the possibility of more sleep was well and truly spent, I flopped onto my back, stared at the ceiling and said, “Wallis, sit and read or sit and stare at your phone, but just sit, be still, please. It’s too early for rummaging.”

“Should I shower?” Wallis asked. “I wonder if I should shower now or later, before the engagement party? Maybe twice. That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, right? Can one overshower?”