“Is she all right? Do we need to—” Sam subsided at Henry’s tired waving motion.

“She’s out. Fortunately, I was already in town to meet with the city planners, who were gratifyingly concerned about your family’s continued willingness to do business with them should there be any difficulty with Maggie’s release.”

“You pressured them,” Sam said, sinking back onto his stool and mustering a weak smile.

Henry shrugged. “They chose to interpret events in a certain way—the correct way, I might add—and I did nothing to dissuade them. Still, it took all damned night, and when I finally managed to get the brat out all she wanted to do was tell me about the truly fascinating women she’d met inside.”

“Other suffragettes?”

“Prostitutes.”

Sam digested this. “It’s not like our parents have sheltered her,” he finally said. “She knew of their existence.”

“They told her, and I quote, ‘the funniest stories.’”

“Oh lord.”

“Indeed.”

The chime of the hallway clock was loud in the silence that fell.

Henry walked across the room to a dusty wooden cabinet; his arm reached inside and emerged with an almost full bottle of whiskey. “So,” he said, unscrewing the top as he crossed back to Sam. “I’m guessing it’s time for this.”

“You warned me,” Sam said, taking a long gulp. “You said, even if she wanted to try, she might not be able to trust me enough. Ever. You were right.”

Henry nodded, taking a smaller swig of the golden liquid. “I did, yes. Did she try?”

Sam let his mind drift. “Maybe. Yes. She tried. It … wasn’t enough. For a minute I thought—I thought maybe it would be. But we came back to reality, and—well.” He shrugged.

“Reality,” Henry said, “is an absolute bitch.” He slid the bottle back.

“The worst part is I didn’t listen,” Sam said. “To her. To you. I could only think—we’re so right together. How can that mean nothing? I assumed it would make everything all right. That all the other stuff—if I loved her enough and was patient enough I could make her better, I guess. Stupid. Stupid and arrogant. Even now, listen to me, talking about ‘all the other stuff.’ That was her life, her whole history. You told me. She told me. Everybody in my goddamn life was telling me and all I did was follow her around like a goddamn puppy, waiting for her to love me enough in return.”

“Sam,” Henry said, voice soft. “You know it’s not about her loving you enough.”