“You’re quoting William Faulkner to me right now?” Maggie said, letting out an angry little laugh of disbelief.

“Your past is my past, too. I have the right to know,” Alice said, and as she did, she held Maggie’s gaze with her own, not allowing Maggie to blink or look away. And in Maggie’s eyes she finally saw it, the anger and upset draining out, replaced by resignation and defeat, saw that her words had done the job at last, that she’d won. “Tell me,” she said again.

Maggie nodded slowly, dragged her hands through her hair. She seemed so tired and done in all of a sudden, so beaten down, her shoulders slumping like all the bones in them had been shattered. Which was why Alice was surprised when all at once she was up, pinning Alice to the trestle, her eyes radiating a manic energy, her voice not dull and toneless, as Alice expected, but harsh and combustive as she said, “Like you don’t already know.”

“I don’t. But I will when you tell me. Which you’re going to do right now.”

“But you won’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand. I need to know.”

“You want to know so bad? Fine. Richard’s your father.” Maggie loosened her grip on Alice, sat back down. “He’s your dad.”

The shock Alice felt on hearing this news was double: first, the shock of the news itself, second, the shock of the news not being quite shocking, the realization that Maggie was right, that some part of her had known already. “Charlie’s too?” she said.

“Just yours.”

And suddenly everything made sense, the jigsaw pieces all fell into place. That Richard was her dad explained why he was so relaxed with Charlie, so much easier and more natural. He didn’t give a shit. Not in a harsh way. He liked Charlie, wished good things for her; she was his wife’s daughter after all, but he didn’t take her personally. Why should he? She wasn’t his. Alice wondered if her dad—no, Phil, not her dad; she’d have to stop thinking of him as her dad, she realized painfully—hated her now. He must. It explained why he hadn’t called or written in months. How could he help but hate her after he’d been tricked into loving her and caring for her all those years, thinking of her as a daughter? She’d obtained his affections under false pretenses, even if unknowingly. It felt to Alice almost like he’d died. And, in a sense, he had. To her, he was no longer that person. That person no longer existed.