“Hitler said caffeine was poison,” Blue said.

“I said,” Korey repeated, “Blue’s room faces the water and he can open his windows and get a breeze. And he’s got a ceiling fan. It’s not fair. Why can’t I get a fan in my room? Or stay at Laurie’s house until you get the air fixed?”

“You’re not staying at Laurie’s house,” Patricia said.

“Why on earth would you want to live with the Gibsons?” Carter asked.

At least when their children said completely irrational things they were on the same page.

“Because the air conditioning is broken,” Korey said, pushing her chicken breast around her plate with her fork.

“It’s not broken,” Patricia said. “It’s just not working very well.”

“Did you call the air-conditioner man?” Carter asked.

Patricia shot him a look in the secret language of parenting that said, Stay on the same page with me in front of the children and we’ll discuss this later.

“You didn’t call him, did you?” Carter said. “Korey’s right, it’s too hot.”

Clearly, Carter didn’t speak the same secret language of parenting.

“I’ve got a photograph,” Miss Mary said.

“What’s that, Mom?” Carter asked.

Carter thought it was important his mother eat with them as often as possible even though it was a struggle to get Blue to the table when she did. Miss Mary dropped as much food in her lap as made it into her mouth, and her water glass was cloudy with food she forgot to swallow before taking a sip.

“You can see in the photograph that the man…,” Miss Mary said, “he’s a man.”

“That’s right, Mom,” Carter said.

That was when a roach fell off the ceiling and landed in Miss Mary’s water glass.

“Mom!” Korey screamed, jumping backward out of her seat.

“Roach!” Blue shouted, redundantly, scanning the ceiling for more.

“Got it!” Carter said, spotting another one on the chandelier, and reaching for it with one of Patricia’s good linen napkins.

Patricia’s heart sank. She could already see this becoming a family story about what a terrible house she kept. “Remember?” they would ask each other when they were older. “Remember how Mom’s house was so dirty a roach fell off the ceiling into Granny Mary’s glass? Remember that?”

“Mom, that is disgusting!” Korey said. “Mom! Don’t let her drink it!”

Patricia snapped out of it and saw Miss Mary picking up her water glass, about to take a sip, the roach struggling in the cloudy water. Launching herself out of her seat, she plucked the glass from Miss Mary’s hand and dumped it down the sink. She ran the water and washed the roach and the sludge of disintegrating food fragments down the drain, then turned on the garbage disposal.

That was when the doorbell rang.

She could still hear Korey giving a performance in the dining room and she wanted to make sure she missed that, so she shouted, “I’ll get it,” and walked through the den to the quiet, dark front hall. Even from there she could hear Korey carrying on. She opened the front door and shame flooded her veins: Ann Savage’s nephew stood beneath the porch light.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said. “I’ve come to return your casserole dish.”

She could not believe this was the same man. He was still pale, but his skin looked soft and unlined. His hair was parted on the left and looked thick and full. He wore a khaki work shirt tucked into new blue jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms. A faint smile played at the corners of his thin lips, like they shared a private joke. She felt her mouth twitching into a smile in return. In one large hand he held the glass casserole dish. It was spotless.

“I am so sorry for barging into your home,” she said, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

“Patricia Campbell,” he said. “I remembered your name and looked you up in the book. I know how people get about dropping off food and never getting their plates back.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, reaching for the dish. He held onto it.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Patricia said, wondering how hard she could try to pull the dish out of his hands before she started to seem rude. “You must think I’m a fool, I interrupted your nap, I…I really did think you were…I used to be a nurse. I don’t know how I made such a stupid mistake. I’m so sorry.”

He furrowed his forehead, raised his eyebrows in the middle, and looked sincerely concerned.

“You apologize a lot,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

She instantly realized what she’d done and froze, flustered, not sure where to go next, so she blundered ahead. “The only people who don’t apologize are psychopaths.”

The moment it came out of her mouth she wished she hadn’t said anything. He studied her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

They stood for a moment, face to face, as she processed what he’d said, and then she burst out laughing. After a second, he did, too. He let go of the casserole dish and she pulled it to her body, holding it across her stomach like a shield.

“I’m not even going to say I’m sorry again,” she told him. “Can we start over?”

He held out one big hand, “James Harris,” he said.

She shook it. It felt cool and strong.

“Patricia Campbell.”

“I am genuinely sorry about that,” he said, indicating his left ear.

Reminded of her mutilated ear, Patricia turned slightly to the left and quickly brushed her hair over her stitches.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s why I’ve got two.”

This time, his laugh was short and sudden.

“Not many people would be so generous with their ears.”

“I don’t remember being given a choice,” she said, then smiled to let him know she was kidding.

He smiled back.

“Were the two of you close?” she asked. “You and Mrs. Savage?”

“None of our family are close,” he said. “But when family needs, you go.”

She wanted to close the door and stand on the porch and have an actual adult conversation with this man. She had been so terrified of him, but he was warm, and funny, and he looked at her in a way that made her feel seen. Shrill voices drifted from the house. She smiled, embarrassed, and realized there was one way to get him to stay.

“Would you like to meet my family?” she asked.

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” he said.

“I’d consider it a personal favor if you did.”

He regarded her for a split second, expressionless, sizing her up, and then he matched her smile.

“Only if it’s a real invitation,” he said.

“Consider yourself invited,” she said, standing aside. After a moment he stepped over her threshold and into the dark front hall.

“Mr. Harris?” she said. “You won’t say anything about”—she gestured with the casserole dish she held in both hands—“about this, will you?”

His expression got serious.

“It’ll be our secret.”

“Thank you,” she said.

When she led him into the brightly lit dining room, everyone stopped talking.

“Carter,” she said. “This is James Harris, Ann Savage’s grandnephew. James, this is my husband, Dr. Carter Campbell.”

Carter stood up and shook hands automatically, as if he met the nephew of the woman who’d bitten off his wife’s ear every day. Blue and Korey, on the other hand, looked from their mother to this enormous stranger in horror, wondering why she’d let him into their house.

“This is our son, Carter Jr., although we call him Blue, and our daughter, Korey,” Patricia said.

As James shook Blue’s hand and walked around the table to shake Korey’s, Patricia saw her family through his eyes: Blue staring at him rudely. Korey standing behind her chair in her Baja hoodie and soccer shorts, gawping at him like he was a zoo animal. Miss Mary chewing and chewing even though her mouth was empty.

“This is Miss Mary Campbell, my mother-in-law, who’s staying with us.”

James Harris held out a hand to Miss Mary, who kept sucking her lips while staring hard at the salt and pepper shakers.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said.

Miss Mary raised her watery eyes to his face and studied him for a moment, chin trembling, then looked back down at the salt and pepper.

“I’ve got a photograph,” she said.

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” James Harris said, pulling his hand back. “I was just returning a dish.”

“Won’t you join us for dessert?” Patricia asked.

“I couldn’t…,” James Harris began.

“Blue, clear the table,” Patricia said. “Korey, get the bowls.”

“I do have a sweet tooth,” James Harris said as Blue passed him carrying a stack of dirty plates.

“You can sit here,” Patricia said, nodding to the empty chair on her left. It creaked alarmingly as James Harris eased himself into it. Bowls appeared and the half gallon of Breyers found its place in front of Carter. He began to hack at the surface of the freezer-burned ice cream with a large spoon.