Children noticed things from angles adults had stopped watching.
Camila understood this in theory — from reading about child development and from two years of watching Daniel process the world with the lateral thoroughness of someone who hadn't yet learned to dismiss peripheral information. She understood it less, until May, in the personal context.
He said it at breakfast on a Saturday, two weeks after the gala, in the middle of eating his toast. He was still in his pyjamas, the hat on the chair beside him because he'd graduated from wearing it to sleeping with it nearby, like a companion.
"Do you and Leonardo like each other?" he asked.
She put her coffee down.
"We do," she said, choosing the careful answer.
"Like, like each other?"
She looked at him. He was eating his toast. He w
