“Yes,” he said. “I’ve already asked your mother to marry me, and she’s accepted. I mean to make the divorce happen as quickly as possible. I’d like to do it sooner, but the divorce will take some time—probably a year or more.”

I understood. Mrs. Haltom would fight over every penny, every stock, every property, every stick of furniture—not out of need, but out of pure (and perhaps justified) spite.

“What about Vanessa and Jamie?”

“They’re legally adults now. I assume they’ll want to stay with their mother for the sake of convenience. I hope they’ll give me equal time.”

I wondered what he meant by “equal time.” Even compared to other ultrarich Belle Meaders, who depended on a bevy of nannies and maids and golf and tennis pros to do most of the child-rearing for them, the Haltoms were pretty hands-off parents. What would equal time consist of in their minds—an hour a week between cocktail hour and dinner?

I looked at my mother.

“Why is he doing all the talking?” I said.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked. “You’re so angry.”

“How should I feel, Mom?” I asked. “Proud?”

“Oh, Charlie,” she said.

“It’s all right, Bonnie,” Mr. Haltom said. “He has a right to be upset.”

I hated myself for agreeing with him.

He sat down next to her and grasped her hand.

“You need to know this doesn’t change anything,” he said. “I’ve come to love you like a son. And I’m going to continue to take care of you.”

Like a son? I thought. He had a son. If the way he treated Jamie was what he called love, I wasn’t much interested. Did he love me as he loved Arch? I couldn’t imagine he ever would. But what did I know of love? I loved Arch in the needy way of a disciple following a guru, feasting on his attention. I loved and needed him in a way he could never requite, even if he tried. I loved Vanessa just as much, albeit in a more complicated manner. I felt loyal to Jamie, but I didn’t love him or even particularly like him. I loved Sunny, but not enough to visit her or even call her between Christmas and her birthday.