“Three years ago,” Gemma says. I’m struck by this; the way he talks about it is as though it was yesterday—three years out and he’s punching holes in the wall. What if I’m the same, what if I never actually feel better? “At least he’s here now. I think it was worse in Norway. His parents got divorced after Berit died, and his mom was so devastated that she’s left her room at their house exactly as it was. Anders told me it’s like a shrine. I know there’s no wrong way to grieve, but constantly reliving it does not seem helpful. There must be a better way. Anders is in so much pain and I just don’t know what to do with him sometimes.”

For a moment, we’re all quiet, everyone bearing their own cross, considering each other’s.

“Well, if you don’t mind a subject change,” Edward says, and I think, please. “Cali, I have something for you.” He gets up and leaves the room, smiling at Cali and putting a hand on her shoulder. She glances at him and I see something sparkle briefly in the air between them.

We wait in giddy silence until Edward returns from the long dark hallway. Only Gemma looks relaxed and smug, and I think she must already know about whatever’s coming.

Edward rolls something tall and obscured by a black bag forward. Cali gets to her feet. Of course, a cello. For a moment, I wonder how it will go, presenting her with a cello like this. I’m remembering the night of the Mexican dinner.

As Edward pulls the covering off and Cali steps forward gingerly, her eyes grow wide and her hands come to her mouth.

“Edward, why do you have this?” She’s examining the instrument in awe, running her fingers along its spine, the curves of the body. The three of us are mesmerized watching her.

“I play a little,” he says, smiling serenely. Cali is enraptured, and he knows he’s done the right thing bringing out the cello.

“Edward is quite the renaissance man,” Gemma says. “He’s got whole caches of instruments back there.”

“That is a nice way of saying that I’m a dabbler. But I do love instruments, and it’s always nice to have them around—you never know when you might have a virtuoso in your midst. This one actually belongs to my mother. It was in New York, but I sent for it.”

“It’s a Goffriller. Gorgeous,” Cali says. “One of the best, along with the Strad and the Montagnana. Though I’ve always preferred the Goff, to be honest. It’s brighter.” I realize the instrument must have cost a fortune.

She looks at Edward, and for an instant I feel like Gemma and I should leave the two of them alone. Or rather, the three of them.