She found too how desperate she was to tell Oke. He had, she knew, a lot of strong opinions about babies. She had spent a good twenty minutes that morning just staring at baby Tom / Finn / James / Albert / Captain America (they weren’t quite there yet on a name), contemplating his starfish toes and his eyes, a mystical color between the sky and the sea, and thinking that he was quite impossible to name and that Oke had quite possibly been right—not about most babies, but this baby—that this baby knew every secret of the universe and was love, uncomplicated, clear as crystal, under every frosted star. How strange that he understood already something she hadn’t.

She shook her head and went forward to meet Phoebe’s nice teacher, then was ushered into the primary school concert hall, a room that, she couldn’t help but notice, was nicer than the school she and Sofia had attended. She took out her phone, as she had been informed she had to tape all three classes of the children whether it was forbidden or not.

The children marched in in total silence and perfectly regimented lines; it was partly impressive and partly quite frightening. The parents sat up attentively, but only Carmen, not realizing the etiquette, waved frantically to Phoebe as she passed. Phoebe didn’t dare lift her hand but smiled to herself nonetheless.

There were then the adorable nativity antics of the smaller classes, during which, it being rather warm and cozy in the hall, Carmen, who had had almost no sleep, started to drift off. She sat up with a start when the primary threes were announced, fumbling for her phone. There was a little skit about dancing babies that she didn’t quite get, then the blond girl stepped forward and looked anxiously at the music teacher at the piano, who nodded her cue.

“Little Jesus, sweetly sleep,” she started. “Do not stir. We will lend a coat of fur.”

And then the rest of the class joined in, their sweet high voices soft and in unison: “We will rock you . . . rock you . . . rock you . . .”

To Carmen’s amazement—she wasn’t quite sure she was hearing right—there was one voice that soared above the others, strong and rich, singing loudly and sweetly over the top of the other children. She glanced toward Phoebe, who was staring straight out into the audience so that she could hopefully spot her aunt beyond the lights. Clear as day, it was Phoebe singing. Carmen didn’t even know if she knew she was doing it; she was simply immersed in making music.

The music teacher was gesticulating wildly, and at first Carmen thought she was trying to stop Phoebe, but then she realized she wanted her niece to come forward to join Calintha for the next verse. Timidly, Phoebe stepped forward as Calintha started: “Mary’s little baby, sleep, sweetly sleep . . . sleep in comfort, slumber deep.”