I started with all of the things in the house that were gifts from my in-laws. The truth is that Frank is cheap, and Helen’s taste is all in her mouth. On the coffee table was a cheap ceramic bowl that Frank insisted was some kind of treasure from their trip to Mexico. He was too stupid to remove the tag from the bottom. It was four dollars US. There were also framed photos, silver-plated, I’m sure, that Helen has given us over the years. All hold images of Sophie and Aubrey, but mostly of Sophie. Sophie as a child, on a pony at the Woodland Park Zoo. Sophie standing next to one of her paintings in high school. Her father raved that Sophie could have been the next Picasso if she hadn’t become a SkyAero manager’s wife and a graphic designer for Starbucks.

“They don’t even make a decent cup of joe,” he said.

I’ve kept the photos with Aubrey.

I drink a second whiskey. This time, to pace myself, I drop a ridiculously large ice cube into the glass.

When the bell rings, I see the three of them standing on the front step in view of our peephole. Helen looks like she’s been browbeaten all the way from Twin Lakes. Aubrey looks excited to be home. Frank is sulking, which is his usual attitude when he thinks no one is looking. He saves his over-the-top puffer fish routine for when it counts.

I swing open the door and drop to my knees for Aubrey as she rushes to me. I lift her up, swinging her in the air the way I always do. This time I don’t do it for her. Or for me, either. I do it to show Frank Flynn that no matter what he thinks or hopes, the little girl that looks like his daughter loves me best.

Wallpaper Helen speaks first, which in itself is nearly a first.

“We were thinking on the way up . . .” she says, looking around the living room, and taking in my boxing activity.

I set down Aubrey. She immediately rushes to her room to reconnect with her toys. “Yes?”

“. . . that maybe,” she says tentatively, “Aubrey should stay with us—you know, until things get settled.”

I’m unsure what she’s getting at. I want to say that things are settled. Sophie is dead. My life. Aubrey’s life. They’re changed forever. Nothing could be more settled than that.

God, I shouldn’t have let them guilt me into leaving Aubrey with them Monday night.

“We have Katrina,” I say. “Aubrey will be fine here. I’m here.”

Frank stays uncharacteristically mute.

“Yes, but I’m home all day,” Helen goes on. “Aubrey shouldn’t be watched by a stranger.”