“When we got home he sat me down across from him and began asking questions in a voice that never changed no matter what I told him. He made me tell him everything. I don’t remember him even blinking. He must have seen the way he frightened me because suddenly his face changed and he put his arms around me and began telling me things would be all right, that he’d take care of it.”

I reached up. There were chill marks on her arms. “You frighten me now,” she murmured.

“No need. It’s just that it still matters. It matters to you.”

She shook her head. “I learned better, with you. It wasn’t like that and mostly I forgot.”

“What did Roland do?”

“He sent me away for a couple of weeks, but he never really said what else. I do know that the Cantwells never brought Jason by again and that somehow he was kept pretty much out of my way. I saw him once or twice a year; Birmingham’s a small place and sometimes you have to get by. But he always looked away. It just died.”

But now I knew it hadn’t. “Does Henry know?”

She looked thoughtful. “He must. I’m sure Lydia did, because for a while she seemed embarrassed, almost oversolicitous. But no one ever mentioned it. I knew it wasn’t their fault, and if anything they were kinder to me than before. It seemed better to pretend it hadn’t happened.”

“But it did.” I shook my head. “Why didn’t you tell me—at least after Lydia was killed?”

She gazed at me steadily. “Because I was afraid of what you’d do.”

“Jesus—”

“Adam, look what you’ve done without knowing.”

“Yes. Get shot at. Ever since I found Lydia I’ve heard nothing but lies and secrets and half-truths, and now it’s you and your father. I’m sick of it.”

Her eyes still held mine. “I’m sorry, Adam. I thought it was best.”

I realized that my feet and legs felt numb, disconnected from my nervous system. I closed my eyes, almost floating. More softly, I said, “I’m sorry, too. For everything.”

She took my hand again. A nurse appeared with something to swallow. Kris Ann promised to stay. In five minutes I was asleep.

I dreamed, but not of Jason. We were in Paris, four years prior. It was spring and Kris Ann sat on the porch of the pensione with a view of the Tuilleries up a narrow side street of small shops, a patisserie, sidewalk cafes. Her dress was white and simple. She still held herself carefully from the baby, as if her body were strange to her. In the dream I knew that later she would exercise and her shape would return, but now she was pale and thin and stretched and emptied out.