Flavia had so given up on the idea of Feely even responding—an idea that brought her no small, shameful amount of relief—that when her sister actually does stride up the museum steps to where she’s sitting, she can only blink up at her in confusion. The delay does, at least, allow her heart time to stop racing so completely.

“I already paid admission,” she says at last, handing over a small tin lapel tag emblazoned with the art museum logo. It’s a lie; the number of people who left their tags resting on ledges or the side of trashcans make it easy for anyone to convince museum staff they’ve paid to get in, but Flavia doesn’t care. She and Feely oughtn’t have to pay to see their mother, anyway.

Getting to her feet, she turns and walks inside, trusting Feely will follow—out of exasperation, if not curiosity. She leads her sister through the lobby entrance and past one or two galleries. She stops just before the entrance to what she’s come to think of as ‘Harriet’s exhibit’, in a spot she knows affords no view of the painting inside.

“I got something from home, too,” she says, her voice quiet. “I didn’t know how to tell you about it, but if you go round the corner you can see it yourself."