Amelia nodded sympathetically. “Two of our employees have stuck around for a long time. Ian Walker, he’s an associate at the firm and holds the place together. Maybe you saw him at Natalie’s birthday?” Amelia’s eyes shone when she spoke of Ian. “He’s like a member of the family, which is great since it’s just the three of us and Natalie doesn’t have any siblings. So far.”

I found myself envious of Ian. “So far?” I asked. “Is there a sibling on the way?”

Amelia looked down at her lap and shook her head. “I want another baby more than I can tell you.” Her eyes filled with tears. I took her hand and held it in mine. As I did so, I feared I’d overstepped, but she pulled my hand firmly toward her, as if she was drawing comfort from me. Her skin was extremely soft. A circle of diamonds sparkled on her ring finger. All her fingers were long and slender. I wondered if she played the piano.

“I can’t stay pregnant. It’s devastating.” Amelia’s shoulders collapsed. “It’s biological, I guess, the intense need for another baby. Maybe a desire to be young again?” She laughed awkwardly. “And the miscarriages destroyed me.” She wiped several tears from her cheeks and smudged black streaks of mascara across her face in the process. “I’ve got to keep up this appearance. Maybe it’s for Fritz’s sake. I think he needs me to be the strong one.”

I heard Natalie’s footsteps on the stairs. Amelia pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and wiped away her smeared mascara. Natalie walked into the kitchen, wearing shorts and a torn T-shirt, her gangly arms and legs exposed. Did she know about her mother’s longing for a baby, the miscarriages? Amelia didn’t seem the type to play it close to the vest.

“Hi, Delta.” Natalie turned to her mother. “I need help with my math assignment.” She put a few stapled pages down on the white marble top of the kitchen island.

“My daughter’s in the most advanced sixth-grade math class that ever existed.” Amelia handed the papers back to Natalie. “She doesn’t actually need help.”

“I do.”

“Homework’s not my job!” Amelia closed her eyes tightly, turned her head away, and held her hands out to indicate that she wasn’t going to look at the homework. She reminded me of a child who was refusing to eat her vegetables.

I’d always been good at math and felt reasonably confident that I would understand Natalie’s math, even if it was advanced. Still, it was a risk. “Can I try to help?”

“Fine,” Amelia said. “But, Natalie, don’t get used to it.”