All at once his face went very still and something, a shadow, seemed to pass beneath its surface. It brought back to her the look on his face when he had saved her from her cousin. That hadn’t been her fault, though. Götz had trapped her arms, hurting her wrists so bad that, after her dad had dragged him off, she had hardly been able to pull her nightdress back down. And yet she hadn’t made a sound. Why? Her mom, her face full of anxious sympathy, had appeared in the doorway but hesitated nervously, which had caused Nora to make an angry gesture for her to go away. Heartbreakingly, she had obeyed. Desperate for her mom, she had lain in misery, trying to understand why she hadn’t called out.

Remembering this, she couldn’t meet her dad’s eyes. A molten shame rolled down through the hollows of her body, making a solid and shapeless clot of her.

“Your face,” he said. She glanced up to see him pointing at his own nose. “It’s bleeding.”

“Daddy, please get out of my room. Please.”

He left. She slumped herself at her vanity, staring into the mirror. On her nose a bead of blood had swelled out from a stubborn zit she hadn’t been able to leave alone. She dealt with this and got dressed. As she applied her makeup, she wondered what it would be like to live in England. Even India. Somewhere—anywhere—else.

A half hour later, the doorbell rang. As she hurried to answer it, her mom emerged from the kitchen.

“Who is it?”

“Raj. I told you. We’re practicing our presentation.”

The sight of Raj’s sweet, curious, smiling face filled her with a leavening joy. He was so tall now he had developed a bit of a stoop. Holding his hands clasped behind his back, he entered her house like an ambassador.

“Aloha, Mrs. Kroger,” Raj said, as they passed through the dining room.

Wincing out a smile, her mom quickly withdrew into the kitchen. Nora took him to her room. She had propped two large pillows against the side of her bed. As Raj sat against one of these, she asked if he minded listening to music while they worked, and put on “Love Me Tender.”

As she sat, Raj said, “I thought that what I could do is give the historical background, while you—”

“You have amazing eyelashes,” she said.

He fluttered his eyes. “Of course.” Now his face became crazily intense, with one eye squinted. “Just look at this soil.” He pinched his own cheek. “Prime bottomland. Put a dead stick in there, next day it’ll be sprouting.” He was imitating Mr. Cleever, who was notorious for selling the most frequently flooded land to city folks for their summer cottages.

“You don’t like being serious, do you?”

“Interrupts my breathing.” He pointed to his throat.