Once the topic of conversation shifted to the Straubs, the evening flew, because it was a subject we both thoroughly enjoyed. He told me stories about residential and commercial projects they’d worked on together over the years. He’d been with the firm for ten years and had been promoted to associate three years earlier. One day he planned to start his own firm, but he said it was too challenging in the current climate.

Ian provided more direct information about the Straubs than I would ever be able to glean from perusing their house. For example, I grew to understand aspects of Amelia and Fritz’s relationship—both personal and business. Fritz had been a wunderkind who’d started his own firm in his late twenties. Early on he offered Amelia a job at his firm, and eventually made her his business partner. Somewhere along the way, they got married. Meanwhile, though Ian didn’t say it directly, I gathered that Amelia had risen quickly in terms of the demand for her work, and at this point she was the breadwinner, responsible for bringing most of the clients in. A reversal of power.

Ian was a veritable fount of information, and also mildly charming.

“I’m grateful for Amelia’s friendship,” I said. I’d finished a third glass of wine and a plate of spaghetti Bolognese. “She’s inspiring.” I had to raise my voice because the small restaurant had grown more crowded over the last hour.

I brought up the subject of babysitting Natalie and told him about the diorama contest for her school.

“Natalie’s a sweet girl,” he said. “But I worry about her. Sort of lonely.”

The comment sounded vaguely disloyal to Amelia and Fritz. Fortunately, our waiter delivered our cappuccinos and I didn’t have to agree or disagree with the notion that Natalie was lonely. Ian sipped his coffee.

“Maybe there’ll be another little Straub on the scene soon,” I suggested.

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

“It seems like something Amelia really wants. Don’t you think so?”

He shifted in his chair. “Well, they’re not secretive about it, but they’ve been trying to have a baby for a few years.”

“I had no idea.” I wanted Ian to believe that I was a trustworthy friend. Not someone who was fishing for information.

We didn’t order dessert, but our waiter forced a platter of petit fours on us.

I sipped my cappuccino in silence. “I wish I could help Amelia,” I said. “I wish I could do something for her.”

He studied the plate of petit fours and then took one of them. Apparently, his mind had wandered away from the subject of Amelia’s infertility. He inched the plate in my direction and pointed to one of the mini tarts. “This one’s really good.”

I took the mini tart to satisfy him, though I didn’t want it.