And how does Belinda figure in? It doesn’t escape my notice that she and I have the same sad past, losing fathers we loved and who were good husbands to our mothers. Belinda had been specifically chosen—just as I had been—because she could provide something Martin wanted. What was it?

I don’t know the answer to this because clearly Martin is a man of secrets.

The next second it occurs to me that I know a place where he keeps some of his secrets hidden. Two places, actually.

For the first time since Belinda looked at that photograph, I know what she and I need to do.

“Come with me.” I rise to my feet.

Belinda must hear the urgency in my voice. She looks up at me in surprise. “Where are we going?”

“To the library first. And then the boiler room.”

We turn from the table and toward the entrance to the kitchen and we both see Kat at the same time. The child is sitting on the floor leaning against the doorframe in the pose of someone who’s been sitting there awhile.

Kat has been listening.

12

I don’t remember what I knew of the ways of men and women when I was Kat’s age—probably very little. But Kat is a smart girl. I know this because of the intricate puzzles she solves and the books she is able to read. And because of the way she listens. She doesn’t just hear, she pays attention, and I can tell by the look on her face that she fully recognizes the situation Belinda and I are in. Kat knows that her father has another wife.

She surely suspected it after seeing pregnant Belinda pointing to the photograph and declaring Martin to be her husband. That was enough to entice Kat to tiptoe back down the stairs and position herself at the kitchen doorway to hear how it is that her father has two wives, one of whom is with child.

There is no point in scolding Kat now for having eavesdropped. I hadn’t commanded her to stay in her room; I’d just assumed she would. Besides, what would scolding her accomplish? She cannot unhear what she has heard.

“Have you been sitting there the whole time, Kat?” I ask.

I see the barest glimmer of shame as she nods. She knew I meant for her to stay until I called for her, even though I did not say it. I cross the kitchen to her and kneel down. Belinda is still behind me.

“Were you listening to us? Did you hear everything?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

I hadn’t known how Belinda and I were going to proceed with Kat right there in the house, but now I don’t have to worry about how much to tell her. She knows everything.

“Do you have questions for me, Kat?”

My daughter looks from me to Belinda and back again. She nods, and I don’t care if she has a slew of questions. I hope we spend the next hour on the floor, she and I, as she asks me her questions in her sweet voice that I too infrequently hear.