When she’d first sat down at the table, Alice had wanted to ask Richard if she’d been given Camilla’s room. Looking at him now, though, she couldn’t figure out a tactful way of phrasing the question. Finally, she let it go. Stopping and thinking about it for a second, she realized that the chances were extremely slim. The house was enormous, no shortage of unoccupied space. What possible reason would he have for putting her in his dead daughter’s room?

“Hey, are you done with those?”

Alice turned to Charlie, pointing with her fork to the barely touched pancakes. Alice nodded queasily, shoved the plate in her direction. As Alice watched Charlie pour half the pitcher of syrup over the short stack, she decided to tell Luz she was switching to cereal so she’d feel less guilty when her appetite was bad, which it often was first thing in the morning.

“So, girls,” Richard said, laying down his newspaper, “what’s the plan for today?”

Charlie’s mouth was full-to-bursting, so Alice answered first. “Maybe read in the morning, sketch in the afternoon.”

Richard’s already down-turning lips down-turned some more. “You’re going to stay cooped up inside all day?”

“Allie likes being cooped up,” Charlie said, grinning around her mouthful. “It’s kind of her thing.”

“Suit yourself. But if you feel like a little exercise and sunshine, there are a lot of places to take a run or walk around here. There’s a map at the club that charts out all these great routes, hidden spots, hiking trails. I could show you some after lunch, if you’d like.”

But isn’t after lunch when you and my mom disappear into your bedroom for an hour or so, come out again all smiley-faced and in different clothes? Alice wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead she said, “Thanks. I’m probably going to have a pretty sedentary day, though.”

“But I think you’d appreciate these landscapes as an artist. They’re very beautiful. You could even bring your pad or your easel or whatever it is you do your”—he paused, and Alice was sure he was about to use the word coloring, was bracing herself for it—“work on.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not so much into capturing the natural world. I’m more into portraiture. You know, people’s faces, bodies, that kind of stuff.” She’d assumed he was only asking to show her mom that he was—quote—making an effort with her—unquote—so she was surprised to see the look of hurt on his face at the turndown. She figured he’d be relieved. He was off the hook, no mopey teenager on his hands.

“And you, Charlie?” he said.