When Arthur began checking the breathing of sleeping adults, Elias took leave from work for several days.

Then he returned.

The checking eventually stopped.

He mistook the absence of visible panic for the return of safety.

Felicity entered their lives the following spring.

She was charming without appearing eager to please. She remembered Arthur’s dislike of mushrooms and once spent an entire rainy afternoon helping him build a bridge from wooden blocks.

Elias watched them laughing on the carpet and felt something inside him unclench.

He had not expected to fall in love again.

He had expected even less to believe that doing so might make the house lighter.

For a while, it did.

Felicity brought fresh flowers. She persuaded him to replace the broken terrace chairs. She invited friends who discussed ordinary things instead of lowering their voices around the subject of Nora.

Arthur liked her.

That mattered to Elias.

It also made him less careful when liking began turning into obedience.

By the time Felicity moved in, Elias thought the most difficult adjustment was behind them.

He had not noticed that his son had begun asking permission before mentioning his mother.

The photograph at dinner had not been part of an argument Arthur intended to start.

It belonged to a small silver frame on his bedroom shelf.

That afternoon, Clara found him cleaning the glass with the corner of his pajama shirt.

“Would you like a proper cloth?”

Arthur nodded.

He polished the frame with great concentration, then held it toward the window.

“Is that good?”

“Very.”

He hesitated.

“Grandma asked about the lake.”

Elias’s mother, Beatrice, had spent the winter with her younger sister in California. This dinner was supposed to welcome her home.

Earlier that week, she telephoned Arthur and asked whether he remembered the place where Nora lost her shoe.

He remembered the story better than the day itself.

His mother stepped into the water to retrieve a floating toy. Her sandal sank into the mud. When Elias tried to help, he lost his balance and sat down in water that barely reached Nora’s knees.

Arthur laughed whenever Beatrice described it.

He wanted to show her the photograph.

Clara suggested taking it to the sitting room before dinner.

Arthur shook his head.

“She said she wanted to hear the story while we ate.”

That was true.

Beatrice liked stories at the table. She disliked business conversations that required everyone else to become quiet.

Clara saw no reason to turn an ordinary request into a negotiation.

Arthur carried the frame downstairs with both hands.

He placed it beside his grandmother’s water glass.

She smiled immediately.

“There she is.”

Arthur climbed into his chair.

“Dad fell over after that.”

“I remember,” Beatrice said. “Your mother said he tried to blame the lake.”

Elias, still greeting his brother near the doorway, heard his name and looked over.

He smiled.

Then his phone vibrated.

He stepped into the hall.