She looked at him as if he didn’t get it, as if he didn’t get it at all.
“And Papa?” he went on recklessly. “I miss Papa, all the time.”
“Yes,” she said dully. “All the time.”
Colin swallowed. “Did they argue – ever?” His voice seemed to go up an entire register and he couldn’t bring it down again. “Did they used to…?”
Delphine held out her hand so that the drips falling from one of the spokes of the umbrella formed a little pool in it. She watched each raindrop as it broke the surface tension.
“Did you ever hear them… talking, saying things… shouting – perhaps; or even fighting?”
She tipped the rainwater onto the deck and wiped her hands together until they were dry, a gesture that was more theatrical than practical, and then she bent her wide-eyed gaze upon him, as if she were tryi
