“Our family’s home?” John repeated, with some scorn. “You two sound like you’re living in a soap opera. This is a house. A large house. We have the ability and resources to help a girl who needs help, and we’re going to do it. For heaven’s sake, Laura, how many bedrooms are required to sit empty to preserve the precious Copeland reputation?”

“John, that’s not fair,” Laura said.

“Dad, you don’t get what I’m saying,” Barrett said. “I’m saying—it’s enough work, isn’t it? With Agatha. And now there’s this other person to deal with, and it’s got to be hard on you guys. Especially Mom.”

“Your mother and Margot get along very well,” said John. “In fact, I think it’s doing them both a lot of good. As far as I’m concerned, the discussion is closed.”

His heavy footsteps walked out of the room. I hurriedly crouched down so I was hidden from view.

There was a long pause from the other room.

“Why is Dad so attached to some guy he knew twenty years ago?”

Laura sighed. “You know your father.”

“Yeah,” Barrett said.

“But—it’s more than that. The specialists were starting to make it sound like Agatha was going to need to be transferred to a home.”

“A home?” he repeated. “She has a home.”

“Precisely what I said,” Laura said. “But your father believed them. And he was starting to make arrangements to have her sent away. Then, it just so happened that we learned of Margot’s existence. And he agreed that if she were to come and keep Agatha company, we could keep your sister at home.”

“Oh,” Barrett said. “So . . .”

“So be nice to her, please,” Laura said. “Agatha’s place here may depend on it.”

I felt almost as if I was choking—as if part of my throat was closing up. I was being used. I was just a tool Laura was using to protect Agatha.

“You know,” Laura said, “for the first week, I didn’t know what to think. But she really is a lovely girl.”

There was a long silence. Then Barrett spoke again. “Well,” he said, “if you like her . . .”

“I do,” Laura said. “She’s quite helpful with your sister. Besides, there’s something pleasant about having a helper around the house.”

“You mean like a servant?” He laughed. “Don’t let Dad hear you talk like that.”

“Oh, no, not like that,” she protested.

“A pet,” he suggested. “Your very own pet orphan.”

His tone was teasing, and she laughed. Meanwhile, I felt completely flattened. I had thought I was one of the actors in Laura’s little show, but it turned out I was a prop.

I heard a long sigh. “You do seem . . . happier,” Barrett admitted.