Arthur wiped his hands on a napkin and looked longingly at his iPad, which was docked on a charger. “It’s okay,” Andrea said. “Go ahead.” Arthur had bravely tried a spring roll—probably for Reginald’s benefit—and he’d been so good through dinner, not leaping up after every bite and racing around the room. Plus, she was nervous. The conversation with Reginald was flowing so naturally, ranging from games they’d liked to play as children to podcasts they’d recently gotten into to funny anecdotes about Arthur when they’d first moved to California. “I brought him to LA, and he was obsessed with the seediest parts of Hollywood,” Andrea had said. “I tried to tell him that there were far nicer spots in the city, but how does the Chateau Marmont compare to Hollywood and Highland?”

“All those stars on the sidewalk,” Reginald added. “And all those junk shops.”

“And the sex shops,” Andrea blurted, and then felt heat in her cheeks. “Sorry,” she added quickly.

Reginald had given her a sly, almost grateful look, like he was pleased that she’d welcomed sex talk into the room.

Andrea shifted positions. “Anyway,” she went on, “this has been a nice little adventure for us, I have to say.”

Reginald placed his chopsticks back into the foil container. “Adventure,” he repeated. “Does that mean this”—he waved his hands around the large room—“is a temporary thing?”

“It’s working for now,” Andrea said with a shrug. “We needed a change.”

“Change is good,” Reginald said. He looked at her carefully. “Hey, what about that stuff at school? With the teacher?”

Andrea crossed one leg over the other. It was amazing how much could transpire in a matter of days.

“Did you confront her?” Reginald went on.

It was amazing he didn’t know. Andrea was so used to living in her bubble she’d forgotten there were worlds outside it. “Um, sort of,” she said. “I’ve pretty much ruled out that Arthur didn’t draw that picture, that’s for sure.”

“See? I told you.” He hugged his knees. “Who did?”

She couldn’t tell him. The story was too insane. Maybe too scary. Also, she didn’t want to drag him in further, make him some sort of accessory. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m trusting my gut.”

“Well, good for you.” He poured more wine into her glass. “Here’s to instinct. And to making big changes.” After they toasted, he added, “I’ve made changes in my life, too. Not quite so recently, but still.”

“Oh? How?”

He sipped again. “Well, for about ten years, I didn’t speak to my mom. I traveled, stayed as far away from her as I could, didn’t leave forwarding numbers, probably worried her sick.” Then he frowned. “Well, maybe I didn’t worry her sick, actually, because she’s not really the type to worry.”

“You just . . . traveled around?”