“She is,” he said. “I think she was a friend of your mom’s who babysat you from time to time. Not a babysitter per se.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I saw her at the funeral. I don’t remember anyone from my childhood who looked like her.”

He smiled. “She probably didn’t, back then,” he said. “Anyway, she seemed anxious to get together. She said she’s going to be in town until your mom gets out of the hospital. Said you can call her anytime.”

“See, now that’s interesting too. Who is this old friend of my mom’s who I haven’t seen since I was a kid—and who cares so much about what happens to my mom, she puts her life in Philadelphia on hold?”

Eric didn’t answer, and, when Robin looked up at him, she saw he was absorbed in his phone. Her heart dropped a little. “I’m going up to bed now.”

“Wait, what? Sorry I was just—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Good night.”

Eric said something. Robin didn’t hear him and didn’t ask him to repeat it. She went up the stairs with Nicola Crane’s card in her hand. She tried to remember her, a younger version of this sinewy, silver-haired, tough-looking woman. Nicola, Nikki. Knickknack, paddywhack . . . Maybe she’d gone by something else. Mrs. Crane?

Robin changed into a big T-shirt, brushed her teeth. She got into bed without taking off her makeup, because the thought of running those moist towelettes all over her face wore her out and anyway, most of her makeup was gone. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally, head to toe, her muscles like wrung-out rags. Maybe I can get to sleep tonight without any help.

She lay flat on her back and closed her eyes, the cool of the pillow against her neck, her palms resting on the soft sheets. She listened to the hum of the air conditioner, trying not to let her own thoughts get the best of her, the nursery rhyme playing in her head, over and over, Knickknack paddywhack, give the dog a bone . . .

The stray dog her mother had brought home, a pit puppy named Brutus with silver fur and big sad eyes. Brutus, that had been his name, and he’d licked Robin’s nose, making her laugh. But her father . . .

I can’t, Renee. You know that. My allergies.

But, Mitchell, he has nowhere to go . . .

The baby bird has no mother. Let me help her, she has nowhere to go . . .

She has nowhere to go. She won’t be any trouble. She can clean up around the house and help me take care of Robbie. Come on, Mitchell, please . . .