“Same at ya,” Nick answered. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Well, I’m freezing and my family is waiting inside, so I’d better go. Good to see you, Carol Anne.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it, glanced at her husband. “You know what, honey? I forgot my purse. Do you mind going back in with me?”

Joe flicked at the purse hanging off her shoulder. “It’s right here, babe.”

“Well, I have to go to the bathroom. Do you want to wait in the cold, or come back in with me?”

Her husband rolled his eyes at Nick, as if to say, Women, and Nick laughed. But he knew why Carol Anne had the sudden urge to powder her upturned nose. She considered herself Amy’s protector, the shield between her and some shattered morality.

As Nick walked up to the front porch, his pulse in his throat quickened. He rang the doorbell and Molly opened the door with a hostess smile on her face. He was struck by how much she looked like Amy—as if someone had drawn Amy’s outline and then replaced the nose, mouth and eyes from a different cutout pattern.

“Hi, Molly.”

“Hello, sir.” Her smile lifted to show straight white teeth. She was a cute girl—Amy’s girl. “Mrs. Lowry is looking for you.”

Carol Anne and Joe came up behind him, politely waiting for the conversation to end as Nick walked into the house.

“Aunt Carol Anne, did you forget something?” Molly asked.

“No, sweetie, just need to use the ladies’ room before I leave.” Carol Anne and her husband stepped into the foyer.

Molly shut the door. “It’s freezing out. Feels like it’s gonna snow or something. Argh. It never snows on a school day, just the holidays.” Molly turned back to Nick. “I think Mrs. Lowry and Lisbeth are in the living room. That’s where I last saw them.”

“Thanks, darlin’. Which way is the living room?” Nick glanced around the house; he wanted to be alone in the house, absorb it in small sips, not in one big gulp while others watched. He wanted to taste the details of her surroundings, going down warm and full of her.

Molly pointed down the hall. “In there.”

Nick followed the hall that opened into the living room, weaving his way through a thin crowd. He didn’t see any of the other people; they were faceless suits and dresses blocking the path to his destination.

He stood at the entryway to the living room, glancing around at the old plaster walls, framed landscapes hanging from immaculate hooks on the crown molding. “One does not puncture plaster walls with nails,” Amy had once told him. The fireplace, big enough to hold half a cord of wood, roared with fire, heat.