Nora stopped listening, though, because she was watching Will, who’d gently opened the book’s damaged cover to look inside, and something he saw there transformed him, made his jaw harden and his brow lower. He ran his thumb along the side of the pages, a flash reveal of text that Nora could see had been underlined, annotated. Blue pen, loopy cursive.

He cleared his throat. “This was my mother’s,” he said quietly, but she wasn’t sure if he’d meant to.

“Now that explains it,” said Jonah. “A whole box of books about some detective with an alcohol problem and then this one! Definitely didn’t seem like Donny’s type of thing.”

Will didn’t respond. He closed the book again, bent to pick up his bucket, and Nora’s stomach clenched in sympathy for him, this surprise intrusion of something painful.

“Thanks for passing it along to me,” he said lightly, but she could tell that this was strained. “I guess I’d better get to work. I’m sure I’ll see you all soon.”

“Oh, wait,” said Mrs. Salas, as Will was turning away. “I think this must’ve fallen out.” She reached down to a white rectangle that had landed on top of the kitchenware box, and even before she turned it over, Nora had a sick, sinking feeling that the surprise intrusion was about to get a whole lot worse.

“Well now, these have to be your parents!”

Nora winced inwardly as Mrs. Salas stared down at the photograph she’d revealed—flat and glossy and well-preserved from the pages of the book it’d been tucked inside, bright with vivid color. Immediately, her neighbors had tucked in, getting closer to peer over Mrs. Salas’s shoulders, their expressions warm and interested.

“Golly,” Jonah said, looking up at Will. “There’s a real family resemblance!”

“All your height from your dad’s side, I guess,” said Benny. And Mrs. Salas added, “But this smile! Exactly like your mom’s. I see a bit of Donny in this smile.”

Nora opened her mouth to say something, to stop this, but right before she could speak her gaze caught with Will’s, his mask of calm marred by the pained look in his eyes, and he gave a small, warning shake of his head.

It doesn’t do any good for them to know, he’d told her, that night when they’d called off their feud, and this look said the same.

At the moment, though, Nora thought it would do some good. It would do some good if they would stop this, if they could read Will like she did, if they could know that this was hurting him.

“Baby faces,” Marian chimed in. “These two don’t look much older than my eighth graders.”