Balquin’s eyes fluttered. She got up and refilled her glass. “I can get you guys something soft.”

“We’re really okay, ma’am. So your husband agreed to pay for the fertility treatments?”

“Ten thousand dollars’ worth. First he said no way, then of course, he gave in. Ralph was a big softie. Lara cashed the check and that was the last I heard about it. Then back to the same old routine, not returning my calls. My therapist says I have to confront the possibility that she used me.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s possible they never paid the doctor.”

“Why would you suspect that, ma’am?”

Balquin’s hand whitened around her glass. “I carried Lara for nine months and sometimes I miss her so much I can’t stand to think about it. But I need to be objective for my own mental health. I always suspected those two spent the money on something else because soon after we gave it to them, they moved to a bigger place and there was still no baby. Lara said Barnett needed space for his piano. I thought what a waste, all he played was country-western songs and not very well. Kristal didn’t arrive until years later— when Lara was twenty-six.”

“That must have been something,” I said.

“Kristal?” She blinked some more. “A cutie, a beauty. From the little I saw of her. Here I was, a grandma, and I never got to see my grandchild. Lara had choices but I know he had a role in it. He isolated her.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “That man never once uttered a pleasant boo-hoo to any of us. Despite our feelings about the marriage, we tried to be nice. When they got back from Vegas we threw them a little party, over at the Sportsman’s Lodge. The invitation said ‘Business attire.’ He came in dirty jeans and one of those cowboy shirts— with the snaps on it. His hair was all long and unkempt— my Ralph was a real dapper guy, you can imagine. Lara used to love dressing up, but not anymore. She wore jeans just as filthy as his and a cheap-looking little halter tank top.”

She shook her head. “It was embarrassing. But that was Lara. Always keeping things lively.”

“Ma’am,” said Milo, “would it be too painful to talk about the suicide?”

Nina Balquin’s eyes floated upward. “If I said yes, would you drop it?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it is painful, but I don’t want you to drop it. Because it wasn’t my fault, no matter what anyone says. Lara made choices her whole life, then she ended her life with a horrible, stupid, rotten choice.”

“Who says it’s your fault?” I said.