I get out of the car and walk to where she’s standing, wide-eyed. “Silas,” she says, her voice quivering. “I thought he knew. I wouldn’t have mentioned Charlie was here, but you didn’t seem to be hiding it, so I thought things had changed and she was allowed over here...” I hold up my hand to stop her from more unnecessary apologies. “It’s fine, Ezra. Really.” She sighs and runs her hand across the apron she’s still wearing. I don’t understand her nervousness, or why she anticipated I would be angry with her. I shove more reassurance into my smile than is probably necessary, but she looks as if she needs it. She nods and follows me inside the house. I pause in the foyer, not quite familiar enough with the house to know where my father would be at the moment. Ezra passes me, muttering a “goodnight,” and heads up the stairs. She must live here. “Silas.” It sounds like my voice, but more worn. I turn and am suddenly face to face with the man in all the family photos lining the walls.
