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THAT SAME EVENING, RACHELarrived at the house. I made a pot of coffee and we sat together in the kitchen we had once shared.

“I hear you have a girlfriend,” said Rachel.

“Did Sam tell you?”

“Yes. Sam says she’s a police officer.”

“That’s right.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think so.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Jeff and I are back together, kind of.”

Jefferson Reid; I’d never much cared for him. He was a rich fool—ifthat wasn’t a contradiction, given that he’d made all his money himself—and I was sorry he was back in Rachel’s life. At least Sam wouldn’t have to put up with him, not if she was going to college.

“Do you love him?”

“No, but I enjoy his company and that’s enough. He’s nicer than you give him credit for, which wouldn’t be hard.” She stared at her feet. “But Sam doesn’t like him. She gets that from you.”

“I’ve never spoken badly of him in front of her,” I said, or I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Seventy-five percent sure. Say sixty and call it quits.

“You didn’t have to. Sam picks up on things that remain unsaid. She always has.”

“She gets her perception from you.”

“Not all of it. Not the stranger part.”

I didn’t reply.

“She told me she wants to be a private investigator, like her father,” Rachel continued.

“Not like me. Better.”

“Would you take my side if I tried to stop her?”

“No,” I said. “But I doubt you will.”

Rachel set down her coffee cup.

“It wasn’t what I wanted for her,” she said.

“What did you want?”

“Conventionality. A normal life. I think it was only ever a dream. Because of you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I was.

“You can’t help what you are.”

“Says the psychologist. I hope that’s not your guiding professional principle or you’ll die poor.”

“Others can help themselves,” said Rachel, “but not you. I don’t know what you are. I don’t believe I ever did. But I loved you. I still love you, though I never want to be with you again. You frighten me.”