“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, surprised.

“Do I need a reason?” She was very nearly offended, but dismissed my question to address more important things. “Nina, honestly. You look frightful. How much sleep did you get?”

“Enough,” I stepped out of the elevator and pulled her with me.

“What are you doing?” she asked, reluctant to be dragged along.

“I want to go home. Can I go home with you?”

“Of course.” I was sure she was curious what had possessed me to make such an atypical request; I had treated our home like ground zero of a quarantined leper colony since the funeral.

I tugged at her coat to quicken her pace and she abruptly stopped. “What is going on, Nina?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling at her arm again.

“This!” she said, motioning to my hand on her arm. “This is what I mean. What is so urgent?”

I exhaled in a frustrated puff. “Beth is at the hospital and I don’t want to be alone. I’m sorry if I’m being overly enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic? Nina, you haven’t tugged on my coat like that since you were five. Is there another reason you want to go home?”

I stared at her blankly. I didn’t want to lie to her again.

“All right,” she sighed. “Robert is waiting in the car.”

En route, Cynthia fiddled with her carefully placed French bun and asked generic questions about school. She was suspicious of my behavior, but as was the norm with my mother, she insisted on overlooking the obvious to obtain a false sense of security. She didn’t speak for the rest of the trip home to keep from spoiling the illusion with trivial things like the truth.

Robert slowed when he entered our long drive. My mother smiled at him when he opened her door, and I followed behind her to the house.

Once inside, I peeled off my scarf, hat, coat, and finally my gloves. I rubbed the residual chill still clinging to my arms, methodically going over my plan in my mind.

“Nina, don’t hover in doorways. It’s rude.”

“I’m going upstairs,” I said in passing.

I rushed to my father’s office, hoping my eyes would open to something I had missed before. I walked along the outer edges of the room and ran my hand along the surface of the wall, feeling the uneven texture with my fingertips. I tried not to concentrate on any one thing; I wanted to leave my mind open to any clues that I might have overlooked before.

My fingertips grazed the spines of my father’s books. I pulled a few of them out and looked behind them, knocking on the wall they stood against. I crawled under his desk and felt for anything abnormal.