He waited over an hour before Chris had cause to go out. Then he went and found her on the fire escape. She was on her back on the couch playing a driving game on her iPad, legs up against the wall, bare feet scrunching up and down the cool brickwork.

Spencer took a beer from the fridge and sat on the armrest.

“Mind if I join you?”

Why do you need to ask? She’s eleven and it’s not even her bedroom.

She ignored him. She was wearing earphones. He tapped her shoulder. She took one of the earphones out, holding it as if to ask whether this would take long.

“You could take a faster line on those corners,” he said.

“I get more points for drifting.” She went to put the earphone back in.

“I need to talk to you, Abby.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Can you take the other earphone out?”

She did so, crossed her arms over her iPad, and waited. Spencer couldn’t decide whether or not the attitude was petulant.

His phone pinged. It was Vincent, wanting to know if he was the greatest stud in Oakland. He put it on silent.

“So I just wondered if, uh, someone were to ask you, would you say you’re happy here?”

She eyed him, trying to figure out why he’d ask such a thing, but then remembered he missed a lot sometimes. In fact, he could be a bit of a doobhead these days. “Sure,” she said. “It’s the coolest part of the apartment.”

“I mean with Chris and me?”

Abby struggled to verbalize what she was thinking.

Her dad never got on board with anything. It was like nothing excited him. Chris always said he had problems at work. Time and time again he made her sad or upset. Made her feel guilty and stupid for missing Mom. And that upset her as much as thinking about Mom. She liked Uncle Chris, liked her room there, but didn’t like the way her dad was like an unhappy visitor passing through.

“Things aren’t the same.” It was the best she could come up with.

“You mean, they’re not the same as when Mom was with us?”

Abby nodded. Spencer swigged his beer, tasting nothing. He watched a squirrel work its way up one of the pine trees. “Things are going to be fine, Abby. OK, I’m not saying they’ll be the same as when Mom was alive, but I promise they’re—” He saw a tear roll sideways off her cheek. It splashed onto the fabric of the sofa, leaving a small dark stain.

Great. We’ve barely said anything.

“Abby, listen, whatever those people up in Oakland try to sell you, they’re not going to bring Mom back or make things just like they were. You need to know it’s bull—, nonsense, I mean. OK?”

Abby said nothing.

“Abby. Speak to me.”