Nora is smiling at him again. When she smiles, it’s like she’s trying to keep it secret. There are dimples in her cheeks, and that’s all; her mouth stays in a straight line. He realizes with a pang that some people wouldn’t even know she’s smiling, it’s so subtle. He notices because he sometimes wears the same expression.

“Alice, go get some of your books to show Lance,” says Nora, and when Alice runs for her room, their eyes meet again.

Lance swallows. “How long have you known about me?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Always? My mama used to say that my daddy had a wife and another kid. But I always imagined you as a girl. Prettier than me, better. Someone he preferred.” She wrinkles her nose and flashes a quick smile that stretches her lips and reveals a glint of straight white teeth, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. “Obviously, you aren’t a girl, but I think you might be prettier than me.”

Lance laughs and plucks self-consciously at his borrowed flannel shirt. “Not a chance.” He sobers. “I don’t think he preferred me, either. He really didn’t like me at all. If that…helps.”

Another shrug is her only answer.

“And he’s dying,” Lance adds.

“That helps a little bit more,” she says flatly. Then, she frowns. “I knew he was sick.” She hesitates, glancing in the direction Alice disappeared, and when there isn’t a sign she’s returning just yet, Nora goes on. “My ex threw us out, me and Alice. I had no one to ask for help. No one at all. So, I came here to ask him.” She makes a face like there’s a bad taste in her mouth. “But he wasn’t here. No one was. The door was standing open, and there was a hole in the roof. I had to chase racoons out of the furniture.” She looks at Lance, daring him to question her choice with her uptilted chin. “I thought he owed me this much. A shack with a hole in the roof.”

Lance swallows and nods, unable to think of a word to say. He’s spared the effort by the return of Alice, who has the promised books—an armload of them.

“These are the best ones,” she says, staggering under the combined weight of her collection, which she unloads onto the sofa next to her mother, and then she chooses just one to present to him first. “And this is my most favorite. Do you like rabbits?” She pulls the blanket back from the window so they have light enough to read by.

Lance knows the afternoon is wearing on because the sun that’s been pouring through the window shifts, casting the room in sudden dimness and throwing the book that Alice has been reading to him into shadow. They blink at each other, and Alice makes a face.

“Mama, can we turn on the lamp?”

“We aren’t wasting fuel while there’s daylight. About time you went outside to play, anyway.”