“Before Lily was born.” Her father’s voice was barely audible.

Joey’s eyes suddenly caught on the vase of sunflowers on the table. It smacked her: the night she was eleven.

“I heard voices,” she said, and everyone looked at her.

“Babe.” Grant patted her shoulder like she was a delicate mental patient. “Babe.”

She shoved him off. “No, stop. Listen. I really heard voices. When I was eleven. I’d had a nightmare and went to the terrace. I don’t remember what I saw. I just remember being back in bed. You tucked me back in, Dad. You said to imagine a field of sunflowers. You said I didn’t see anything.”

“Scott!” Bea’s eyes widened.

“Don’t Scott me!” he shouted, and instinctively, Joey covered her eyes.

“It wasn’t you,” Joey said, it all dawning. “I remembered it the last summer we were on Corfu, that time when I was eleven. I think I briefly wondered if you and Maisy were having an affair. But I guess I forgot about it.”

“Me and Maisy?” Scott shook his head. “Oh, honey.”

“But it wasn’t you and Maisy.”

“I don’t understand,” said Bea.

“I don’t understand!” said Lily.

“The voices I must have heard on the terrace were Mom and Rand. Seriously, Mom? In plain view?”

“We never did anything on the terrace,” said Bea. “Give me a little credit, Joey.”

“You deserve no credit. Zero credit. Ahhhhhhhhh.” Lily let out a banshee scream. Then she gave the didgeridoo a long blast. Eventually Lily removed her mouth from the lip and propped it against the table.

“They were just talking,” said Scott. He’d now torn up a sizable patch of lawn. “But they thought we were asleep, me and Maisy. So the talking wasn’t normal talking. It was lovers talking—”

“Scott, that was nine years before our last summer. I don’t—”

“It was lovers talking, Bea, and I didn’t want Joey to catch on. She was such a perceptive kid. I walked you back, JoJo, and there were sunflowers on the kitchen table, so I guess I blabbered something about them—”

“I’ve hated sunflowers ever since,” said Joey. “I don’t get it, Dad.”

“I don’t either, Dad,” said Lily. Then her face changed. She tore off her headdress. “He’s not even my dad. Fuck, he’s not even my dad.”

“I am your dad. Please, Lily. I am your dad.”

“When did you know?” asked Bea.

Scott exhaled deeply through his mouth. It was a long exhale, like blowing out birthday candles. Like huffing and puffing to blow the whole house down.

“I knew before we were married,” he whispered. “I knew about Harry Berry.”

Bea looked at Scott like she’d never seen him before. “But I never talked about Rand. Not to you or anyone. And definitely not about Harry Berry.”