“And anyway, I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t made up my mind yet.” She pushed off the counter and put on a blank face. “Ready with the hot chocolate?”

“Yes. But I just want to say that I’m always here if you do want to talk more about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I picked up the tray and carried it into the family room, April following behind me.

“Mmm, something smells good,” my mom said.

“Hot chocolate?” I offered, setting everything on the coffee table.

“Looks delicious.” My dad reached for a mug and settled back into his favorite recliner.

“I’ll have some too.” My mom set her paperback aside. “Good idea. Those boys are going to be chilled to the bone when they get in here.”

“I know.” I picked up a mug and let it warm both hands as I looked out the glass door onto the patio. I could just make out Henry pointing toward the sky and Keaton following the line of his arm.

“Where’s Whitney? Does she want hot chocolate?” April asked, sitting cross-legged on one end of the couch.

“I think she went up to her room,” I said. “I’ll go see.”

Upstairs, I knocked on Whitney’s bedroom door. “Whit? I made hot chocolate. Want to come down?”

“No, thanks.”

I frowned at the wood. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, what are you doing in there?” I tried to open the door but it was locked.

“Nothing.” A few seconds later, she opened the door. Her face was full of makeup, her expression dour. She looked like a very unhappy clown. “Just playing with the new palette.”

“Oh. Well, if you want to come down and join us, feel free. Just wash your face first, please.”

“Is Mr. DeSantis still here?”

I paused. Was there something accusatory in her voice? Or was I imagining it? “Yes. He’s outside with Keaton showing him how to use the telescope. Want to come down and look through it?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. I’ll be up in a bit to say goodnight. Don’t get any makeup on the bedding please.”

“I won’t.” She shut the door with no further comment.

On my way back downstairs, I wondered if Whitney suspected something was going on with Henry or if I was just being paranoid. All we’d done was sit next to each other at the table. I decided I must have imagined the suspicious tone of her question—probably just my own mixed-up feelings about what Henry and I were doing.

When I got back downstairs, Henry and Keaton were just coming into the family room, their cheeks and noses red from the cold.

“Guess what, Mom?” Keaton asked excitedly. “Henry goes to a boxing gym and he said he’d take me there sometime!”

“That’s awesome, buddy.” I smiled at him.