Andrea talked about her own situation. Roger knew she was a Vandermeer; he understood the pressures she felt, the media scrutiny, her tyrannical, unaccepting father. She talked about how much she adored her baby son and how, in a perfect world, she could take Arthur away somewhere and transition, too.

“Maybe I’ll come to California with you,” Andrea had said, her eyes twinkling. “We’d have each other.”

“I have an idea,” Roger then said. “Let’s go somewhere overnight. Try to be . . . us . . . for a whole day.” He grinned. “There’s this hotel upstate that’s right on the water. We could go by train?”

Now, the memory made her feel melancholy. She walked into Pages, the little bookshop on the corner. Bookstores, especially indie ones, had always calmed her. When she was young, she used to hide out in a tiny bookshop around the corner from her family’s town house, reading Tolkien, escaping the things normal teenagers did—getting burgers after school, having sex in the park, doing drugs, whatever. The proprietor let her stay all hours, never said anything when she didn’t spend a dime.

“Andrea?”

She whirled around. Reginald the landscaper stood at a table by the register. He held a paperback but placed it back on the table and walked toward her, all smiles.

“Hey!” Andrea said, still flustered. “What’s up? How are you? What are you doing here?” She was babbling. “I mean, buying books, obviously.”

“I’m looking for a new thriller.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “One of those junk-food paperback sorts. I’m an addict.”

“I won’t tell.” Andrea winked. Was it weird to wink? Did people wink anymore? She felt so discombobulated. “Have you noticed how much other stuff they sell in bookstores these days?” She waved her arm around. “Board games, collectibles, Belgian chocolate . . .”

“The toy section is impressive, too.” He shifted his weight. “Then again, maybe you aren’t looking for toys . . .”

“I’d love to see the toys!” she said, her voice too loud.

“I’ll show you. There are some Hot Wheels sets that seem right up Arthur’s alley.”

He walked toward the back of the store. Andrea followed, taking in his straight spine. Reginald was still wearing his Blue Iguana Landscaping T-shirt. His strong, tanned legs strode with purpose.

He said something she didn’t catch. “What’s that?” she asked.

“I was just saying that Arthur is a great kid. He seems so happy.”

“I hope so.” Andrea’s smile wobbled. But all at once, she could feel herself cracking. Her knees buckled. She stopped and leaned against a table of calendar journals.

Reginald whirled around. “You okay?”

Andrea stared at the swirls in the carpet. “I don’t know if he is, actually. Happy, I mean.”

“Why would you say that?”