“Take your time.”

We all tread down the stairs slowly. Here I am, coming to Crystal for help, and I’m going to end up helping her. My ears prick for what I thought I heard down the hall, but I know it’s my own wishful thinking. I can’t fabricate a result. I can’t make the police, DCFS, Jake, or Toby move any faster.

“Are you sure you don’t mind if she comes over?” Crystal asks again. “It would help me out so much.”

I don’t ask about Pam, but instead nod. “Of course she can.”

“Thank you. Let me just pack her a lunch and some snacks.” On cue, her phone rings. “Crap. This is the client. Hold that thought and I’ll get her stuff ready.” She disappears out back. The sliding glass door opens and shuts.

Savi and I wait in the foyer. “Do you like living in this big old house?” I ask.

“Sometimes. I really miss my dad though.”

“I’m sure you do.” Savi doesn’t often mention her dad, and I don’t know whether to keep going or to let it die. “What do you miss the most about him?”

“I miss the way he used to take me places. We’d go to the museums or go walk by the beach.”

“What else?”

“I miss his pancakes. He made the best pancakes.”

“I bet he did.” Chris was terrible at cooking. He would burn toast.

“I set fire to all his boxes.”

Her admission startles me. “What?”

“My dad’s stuff. It used to take up this entire room.”

I try to conjure a room full of boxes. “Why did you set fire to them?”

“Because they were making my mom sad. I need to go to the bathroom before we go.”

Once Savi is in the bathroom, I consider what she just said. Savi set fire to her dad’s possessions? How much pain must she be in to do something like that? I realize that with all of my current drama, I haven’t been here for anything Crystal might have been going through too.

As I pace the foyer, I realize Savi never brought her cello down. I tap the floor with my cane to be sure. I decide to grab her new one. I’ve already memorized my path. It’s an obsessive habit that has paid off over the years. While I’ve always been meticulous, once you’ve injured yourself due to miscalculations, you learn to self-correct. I go over the math in my head now: twenty-four steps to the landing. At the top, the study is five steps to the right. Her cello is on its stand. I lower it carefully into the case, clean the bow, and place the music in the sleeve in case she wants to bring it.

And then, that noise again.