Helen took small spoonfuls of her yogurt. She had tried to approach the situation in as businesslike a way as possible over the last few days, suppressing the memories as far as she could—the gun in her hand, the smell of the gunpowder, the saw, the boy in the freezer, those sinister packages. Helen had known plenty of patients who displayed admirable resilience in the wake of an extreme event, whose behavior seemed relatively normal, levelheaded, and even cheerful. Seemed that way, at least, since it wasn’t unusual to hear about people like that experiencing a nervous breakdown somewhere down the line, at a quieter point in their lives. There was no room for that, she knew. Not now, and not later. She maintained the brittle shell that covered her emotions and allowed her to go about her day-to-day routine. That boy was gone; she could do nothing more for him. But her children were still alive, and they needed her.

“What are we doing this evening, anyway?” she asked.

Werner looked up in confusion. “This evening? What do you mean?”

“Sara is having her movie night.”

“Yes—and?”

“They don’t want us around.”

“Perfect,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “I’ll be back late tonight anyway.” He turned to face the coffee machine and placed his cup under it. Pushed a button. Nothing happened.

“How come?”

Werner leaned forward and studied the machine. “Just checking in at the restaurants. Showing my face.”

“That doesn’t have to take up the entire evening, does it?”

“I’m afraid it does. I need to train a few people.” He glanced at her. “Or you’ll have to put up with their calling me constantly while we’re in England.” He turned back to the machine, thumped the side with his palm, and then tried again. There was a quiet gurgling noise, followed by hissing. “And I need to head over to the bank to deposit the daily takings too.”

“What about me?”

He frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“Weren’t you listening to what I just said? They don’t want us here.”

“Jesus, Helen, you don’t have to bend over backward for Sara and her friends.”

“Even Emma and Thom are spending the night elsewhere. The kids want privacy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they call it nowadays? If it’s so important for them to be on their own, they can go to a movie theater. Our house, our rules. He who pays the piper calls the tune.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Why don’t you go over and see Arianne tonight? Or go out for a drink with your colleagues?”