“Former Intro to the Stock Market teacher.”

“Ew, Mom. Really?”

Rebecca held up her hand. “Maybe this is why I didn’t tell you. This reaction, right here.”

“I’m sorry!” said Alexa. “Sorry, I am. It’s just—I mean. First of all. Do you call him Mr. Bennett?”

“No. Of course not. Daniel. I call him Daniel, which is his name. I just called him Mr. Bennett because that’s how you know him. And I haven’t told anyone. I wasn’t sure if people would think it wasn’t long enough after Peter, or too long, or the wrong person, or what. I just didn’t feel like dealing with people’s questions, or comments. And Morgan—I didn’t think she was ready. Also, if you can believe it, Daniel’s ex-wife is Gina’s husband’s sister. It all just felt too close to home.”

Alexa winced. “Wet sleeping bag Gina?”

“Wet sleeping bag Gina. And I guess the final reason is that even in the middle of all of this, meeting someone new, laughing with someone new, I still miss Peter.”

Alexa took a sip of her drink and then met Rebecca’s eyes. “I know,” she said. “I know you do. I do too.” She paused. “You know, I talked to Peter about not going right to college. Just before he died. I was thinking of it even back then, even before I started Silk Stockings.”

Rebecca was torn between feeling intrigued about that conversation and envious that it hadn’t been with her. “What did he say?”

“He was really supportive. I mean, he wasn’t like, yeah, gap year! Definitely! But he was willing to keep the conversation going. He was definitely willing to think about it. And then all of a sudden he was gone.” She gave a little shuddering breath that again called to Rebecca’s mind the eight-year-old with the self-portrait. “I miss him a lot too, Mom.”

“What do you miss about him?”

Alexa looked like she was thinking about this. “He was so patient when he taught me to parallel park—remember? In that parking lot across from the Towle building? I ran over those cones the first thirty times I tried it and we got chased out of there by the cops because officially the parking lot is private. He was always so—so nice.” She swiped at a tear. “That sounds lame, but it’s the right word for what I’m trying to say. He was so kind. I wish he was my real father.”

“Alexa! He was your real father.”

“Well. But he wasn’t. Morgan was his actual daughter, the one he had from the beginning of her life. I was just this . . . this interloper who was always hanging around. This barnacle attached to you. He couldn’t pry me off, but he wanted you, so he took us both.”