“Rebecca and I need a time-out, Ruth,” George said abruptly, pushing his chair back from the table. “Will you give us a moment?” Still holding the eyeglasses, he stood.

“I’ll put in a fresh tape, and if you don’t mind, I will take this opportunity to use your facilities,” Ruth said. “I don’t usually drink so much caffeinated coffee, because of my reflux.”

“Good plan. The bathroom is just beyond the kitchen over there.” He held out his hand to Rebecca. She looked at him, puzzled, and then took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the bedroom, which was partitioned off from the rest of the loft by walls of bookshelves.

“What’s the time-out for?” Rebecca asked in a whisper once they were alone. He sat her down on the edge of the bed and sat beside her. “A general allergy or something specific?” Rebecca continued. “Because she is certainly a ragpicker on wheels, but—”

“I think you should stop talking to her right now,” George said. “I mean right now.”

“Why?”

“I think she’s here with an agenda, which we anticipated, but I don’t think you ought to give her anything else today. She’ll just suck up anything you give her. She would suck the marrow from your bones if it would help her next fucking PowerPoint presentation. She really has no idea what she’s delving into, and she can’t see the difference between solid gold and brass-plated tin, but she’s onto some really significant issues, and they’re very important to you, and I want to talk about this with you privately before you make any decisions about what you tell anyone else.”

“Okay. Go ahead. What is it?”

“I don’t mean right this second. I mean alone, after she’s left. It’s too important. We have to get her out of here now.”

“I’m kind of enjoying the conversation, I have to admit.”

“What are you saying, Beck, now you like her? You said you couldn’t stand her. Now you’re sympathetic?”

“Oh, she’s totally awful, but I miss Esther so much, and nobody else has ever come along who knew all this or was this interested. I guess I just like talking about my grandmother and her life. But, fine with me—I’ve had enough. We were going to show her the photo, though. It was going to be the last thing to put on the table, remember? Where did you leave the engagement photo?”

“No! We can’t let her see the photographs,” George said. “She’s too clever in her own blinkered way. She’ll see it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone. I need to show you something. Suddenly, sitting there just now, I realized. Look at these glasses. Don’t you see? Think about the picture, the engagement photo your grandmother kept all those years in that safe-deposit box. She’s got these same glasses pinned to her dress—”

“That’s what women did. They wore their glasses that way—”

“Yes, I know! Don’t you see it, Rebecca? Who is it—”