“Bannen,” Chiyo prompted.

“Yes, that’s him. Ian Bannen as Grandfather George made me laugh out loud, every scene he was in. But you know, at the end of the film—after taking it all in—I, too, just wanted to sit there in the theatre. For a long time. Let those years wash through memory.”

Chiyo was still thinking of her mother. Small. Helpless. But the image of the brown bandage, the knot at the side of her head—the death knot—slipped in and replaced the earlier image. Now it refused to let go.

“All of these,” said Allam, “are good stories to hear. The stories we tell about our lives. And the lives of the ones who are gone. Everything changes when we lose someone. But we—the ones who are left—we have to choose life.”

Cass came into the backroom to see if anyone wanted a refill, and Hazzley stood with glass in hand. Tom pushed back his chair. The mood shifted. Everyone decided to take a break.

As Gwen rose, a single grey hair loosed itself from among her ginger highlights and rested on the shoulder of her black turtleneck—unnoticed by everyone except Allam and Chiyo. Allam leaned forward and delicately removed the hair, flicking it away. Gwen made no acknowledgement, but looked up at him briefly.

Cass turned back at this moment and happened to see the expression on Gwen’s face.

An exchange.

I predict, Cass thought. She carried on into the café.

What Chiyo saw was an exquisite and delicate move. Approach, step up and grasp, she said to herself. An intimate but silent act. Two wounded people advance in very small steps.

Wall at Your Back

GWEN

The moment she entered, she heard scrabbling, followed by sudden silence. Perhaps not terrified silence, not this time, though she wondered if she was intuiting correctly. She shut the door, aware of her presence filling the space. She heard no further movement until she walked into the family room. She turned off the radio, which she’d left on during her previous visit. Rico hopped to the front of his cage, stared, dipped his head down, up again, down.

Progress indeed.

Maybe this was the day to let him out into the room, but how? Cecilia Grand had provided no details. Gwen went back to the instruction sheet in the kitchen to ensure that nothing had been missed.

After several days—and only if you feel confident enough—let him out of the cage for brief periods.

She decided to get to it. She would let him out, clean the cage, change the water while he was strutting to the tune of freedom.

She walked slowly, talked slowly, opened the cage door with as little noise as possible. No fuss, no hullabaloo.

Nothing happened. She took six steps back, until she was halfway across the room. No sudden gestures; nothing to startle. Now she stood entirely still.

Rico observed every one of these actions. He dropped to the floor of his cage. He regarded her with interest, and then looked away. He hopped onto one of the lower perches and pecked listlessly at a puzzle-toy that was no longer a challenge. Crumpled paper, the half shell of a coconut, a set of interlinked plastic cups to turn. He’d already turned the cups, found and extracted the cashew in the deepest labyrinth. She’d have to hang something new, insert a fresh treat.