Taking her coat, I guide her inside, and gesture to the table. “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

She sits down, sips her coffee. “Like you said, I’m your mother. Mothers forgive their children in ways they never forgive themselves.”

“Seems premature to talk about forgiveness when we haven’t even spoken of the sin.”

“What’s there to say? You were a child. He was my husband. He betrayed us both. You, worse, of course—far, far worse.” She stops. “How are you, Cassandra?”

It’s a strange question, coming from her. Has she ever asked me this before? So directly?

How am I? How am I? “I have no idea,” I tell her. “I feel sad—and sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Not as far as you and I are concerned.”

“But to find out in court? Had I known . . . had I thought . . . I’m flailing here, Eleanor. I have no idea what to say except I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, or said no, or . . . I don’t know . . . not done what I did. But the way Lawrence described me, that I was a . . .” I choke on the word predator. “That’s not true. It wasn’t like that; it’s not how it happened.” I think of Columbia, my apartment, all the hours we spent together. Lawrence and I had a relationship; it happened every day.

“I know, Cassie. It was . . .” She takes another sip. Her hands are trembling. “When you were a teenager, Burt had suspicions, but I didn’t listen. I should have, of course. Of course, I should have. But the idea that Lawrence was capable of something so . . . so heinous . . . that he could . . . It was inconceivable. And even if I could believe it, what would I say and to whom?”

Digging into the bag, Eleanor takes out the biscotti, breaks it in half and hands me a piece, then keeps going.

“When I was growing up, parents and children occupied separate orbits. We never spoke of our difficulties. We prided ourselves on our self-sufficiency. I realize this was cowardice. Similarly, I used to consider myself a strong person, but I’m not. I was weak. I turned away . . . I didn’t ask . . . I didn’t . . .” She shakes her head, bewildered. “When you left for Yale, and I saw Lawrence’s grief, I wondered. Then, when Lawrence pushed Billy to take a plea, I think that’s when I knew. A plea! To save himself.”

“But you still went to trial knowing it might come out.”

“It was a risk, but a calculated one. I believe Billy is innocent, and when it came down to saving Lawrence or saving Billy, there was no choice. This meant exposing my family, subjecting you to pain and humiliation, and I’m sorry for that. But it was a price well worth paying to keep my son out of jail.”