At the gallery, I was reminded that Cricket was my ideal museum buddy; my father never had any patience for them, and while Wallis was always appreciative, she zoomed through at her own pace, never bothering to read more than one or two descriptions. My mother and I, on the other hand, meandered the airy rooms, marveling at the bold hand of Calder, the deft, lacy brushstrokes of Monet’s cathedral, following the sun as it dappled the marble floors. We stood for a long time in front of Titian’s voluptuous Venus and Rembrandt’s unflinching self-portrait. Cricket and I both observed the same feature in the painting of Emperor Napoleon: his infuriating smirk. Afterward, we got large coffees and wandered through the sculpture garden beside the Mall, watching children in Velcro sneakers run circles around massive bronzes. We sat for a while on a stone bench under a budding elm tree, huddled in our jackets, and read news on our phones. Every so often Cricket would show me a headline, shake her head, and cluck her tongue.

On our return to the apartment, I recognized Blake’s car parked in the space directly in front of our building. I pointed this out to Cricket, and when we made it inside the vestibule, we paused wondering if we should call Wallis before barging into the apartment. As we debated, Blake himself came hurrying down the stairs. It may have been his hastiness or something on his face, but I felt no small amount of wariness as he approached us.

Cricket asked if he was all right.

“I am,” Blake said, contorting his mouth into a smile that was supposed to fool us into believing what he said was true. “I mean... I am physically fine.” There were red splotches around his eyes, and his clothes, normally so neat, were hanging off his frame.

“Come back upstairs,” Cricket said, concerned, motherly, patting his upper arm. “Something has clearly happened to have you so rattled.”

“I wish I could.” He swallowed hard and continued, “But I am actually on my way back to the airport. I have to be back in Charleston tonight. My mother has recently lost her reelection campaign manager. She’s called for me to fill in while a replacement is found.”

“But you just got here! Wallis said you only landed this morning.” Cricket turned to me, as though I could change his mind.

“When will you be back?” I asked. Hurried footsteps on the stairs, and I thought it might be Wallis, coming after him. No, I soon saw—it was just the nice couple from 2B, who squeezed by us in the narrow hall with a friendly, Hi, guys.

“Not for a while, I’m sorry to say,” Blake said after they’d gone out the front door. “I have to stay in Charleston through the summer at least.”