Oscar peered at me through the mirror. “We were saints.”

“Maybe not saints,” I said, remembering some key details.

“He’s going to know.”

“I’ll tell him I popped down to bring you a coffee and we started talking and time got—”

“He’s your dad, Ruby. He’ll know.”

Not this dad. He wouldn’t notice if I flew around the living room sprinkling pixie dust into all the vases.

“Maybe we should tell him.” Oscar scratched his cheek. “Get it out there.”

He was agitated—and no wonder. This was the culmination of everything he’d confided to me. My famous, establishment dad. My solidly liberal but still extremely white dad. His mentor.

I stopped smiling and reached for him. “We can tell him if you want. I honestly don’t think it matters to him either way, but if that’s what you want to do . . .”

“I don’t know.” Oscar sighed. “No time like the present, though.”

I led the way outside, up, and back in. Dad’s voice filtered down the stairwell from his study. And someone else’s . . .

“Oh,” I said, my step slowing. What was she doing here? Nora popped by semi-regularly, but having her here now, this morning, felt seriously intrusive.

Oscar’s hand dropped from mine. “Ms. Visser’s here.”

“I’m sure you can call her Nora.”

“I prefer Ms. Visser.”

“Oscar, that you?” Dad bellowed down the stairs—then, in the other direction, muffled, “Ruby, you wouldn’t run to Zabar’s and grab some breakfast?”

I rolled my eyes and mouthed “See?” Oscar managed a smile but it died abruptly, like his fuse had been tripped. He needed me to be the brave soldier marching into the vanguard—so I did, straight up to the study.

“Promise you’ll be objective here,” Nora was murmuring. “This could be gold, take a look.”

Yes, both of you, take a look at anything but the hallway.

I reached the study, seeing Dad’s head craned over Nora’s phone while she murmured, “Can’t buy that kind of placement . . .”

I got out, “Hey-Dad-Hey-Nora-I’m-actually-heading-out-for-a-run . . .” And was past the door before they saw my PJs. Oscar hesitated outside the study.

Dad’s voice flew into the hallway like a lasso. “Ruby. Oscar. Both of you in here right now.”

I backed into the hallway, caught my flip-flop on the runner rug, had to hold the wall to keep from falling.

It’s fine, I mouthed to Oscar, then ducked in after him.

Dad was now seated at his composition desk, head slumped, holding Nora’s phone.

Nora smiled up at me. She was wearing workout clothes but her bob was immaculate, so I wondered if she’d popped by on the way to her trainer or if the outfit was for show.

“You’re in the news, my darlings,” she chirped, staring at the phone. “Gossip pages. But still!”