She arrived on the four-fifteen train, and Damon picked her up — Lena had offered, but Damon had insisted with the specific firmness he reserved for things that mattered to him personally, and Lena understood: he wanted the first conversation, the drive home, the chance to tell his mother what he was before she walked into a house that had already absorbed the knowing.
He came back at five.
Lena heard the car on the gravel and felt the field register her mother's arrival the way it registered everyone — warmth, immediate, the room extending itself before anyone had decided to extend it.
She went to the door.
Vivienne stood at the bottom of the front steps.
She looked — Lena held the sight of her for a moment, the specific cataloguing she still did with everyone who mattered — she look
