No, no, Charlie thought desperately, it was too soon for jokes. He’d misjudged the situation. She quickly looked over at Maggie, was surprised to see the anger in her mom’s face tighten, then drain suddenly away. Her body loosened and her expression went soft, and she laughed, actually laughed, though she assured Charlie she was still very, very mad. But she wasn’t, not truly. And the scene was pretty much over at that point. Basically, thanks to her stepdad, Charlie got off with a paltry warning.

Richard really was a good guy, Charlie thought to herself, as she trudged up the staircase, yawning. Not unreasonable in the least. Alice must’ve brought out the unreasonable in him.

After sending Jude a text letting him know everything was okay, that she wasn’t getting shipped off to a convent or anything dire, Charlie crawled into bed with all her clothes still on. Just before she drifted off, she remembered there was something she was supposed to do for Alice. But what? Something about a phone number . . . and an answering service . . . a piece of paper in the back of her desk. . . . Too late. She was asleep.

• • •

Alice pulled into the driveway at a little past ten. After parking, she took her time putting her cell in her bag, tidying up gum wrappers, applying a layer of Chapstick to her lips. The time she’d spent with Tommy was already receding, turning into a beautiful, faintly dim memory. The prospect of seeing Richard had her stomach squeezed as tight as a fist. Not with fear. Or not just with fear, anyway. Remorse was mixed up in there, too—she never should have said what she said about Camilla, shoving it in his face that his daughter had committed suicide; if he was in denial it wasn’t her job to pull him out of it—and anger. After all, Richard and Maggie had deceived her and Charlie about their relationship.

Alice entered the house, listened carefully. Quiet, the loudest sound the ticktock of the grandfather clock in the living room. She climbed the stairs. A lemony glow showed under Richard and Maggie’s bedroom door. She’d been hoping they’d be up and about. At least the lights were still on, which meant they weren’t doing lights-off stuff, so there was that piece of good luck. And, besides, holding off on the conversation until tomorrow wasn’t really an option, only meant another night of no sleep, which she didn’t think her body could take at this point. Gathering together all her courage, she raised her fist, rapped her knuckles lightly against the wood.

“Come in,” her mother said.

Alice opened the door, stepped inside. Maggie was propped up in the enormous bed with a pillow behind her back, a book open in her hands.

“Where’s Richard?” Alice said, surprised to find her mother alone.