“OK, no argument from me.” They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Michael didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He still thought of her as his kid sister. He hated that she looked so sad and alone and confused, and that some of her sadness and confusion was because of him, and what he’d done and not done. “I have a boyfriend, I guess. He’s here now. On the Cape.”

“Lucky guy.” He meant this. “Your parents—I can’t—I just found out not too long ago. It’s terrible.”

“It is.” Poppy nodded like everything he said was no big deal, trying hard to seem cool. Her faux-toughness made him ache for her.

He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. It was a gesture that was meant to show his physical openness, a trick he learned when he went through family therapy with Shelby and Deeds when Avery was little, and they faced coparenting challenges. The women accused him of closing himself up when things got tough. The therapist said he should strive for transparency above all else, and that body language has everything to do with the success or failure of a conversation. Really, he wanted to curl up into a tight ball.

She walked to the other side of the room and picked up another framed photo, this one of Avery. What a way to explain your life to someone, photo by photo, the way they did on social media. In that snapshot she was only two, playing at Race Point Beach in a broad sun hat and daisy-print bathing suit. He didn’t understand then how much it would hurt, years later, to look at photographs of his daughter as a little girl. Days are long, years are short, as Ed liked to say. He wished he could stop time.

“Is this your daughter?”

“Yeah. Avery. She’s older now.”

“Just look at her. She’s gorgeous. She looks just like you, especially in the eyes.” She paused and turned her gaze back to Michael. “Ann’s son,” she said. “Noah. He doesn’t look like you. Not at all.”

“There’s no reason he should.”

She froze. “What did you just say?”

“He’s not mine, Poppy. He’s just not, OK?” God, it felt good and clarifying to say that out loud after all these years. He wanted to scream it from a mountaintop.

She sat down, breathless. “But all these years … I mean, why’d you say he was? Why, Michael?” Her voice cracked. “You didn’t even say goodbye. How could you do that? Did you ever even think of me?”