"Sit down, Mark," Helen said.
She did not raise her voice. She had used that sentence on him in kitchens and in hospital corridors and once, years ago, in the parking lot of a church, and it had worked often enough that she still trusted it. Mark did not sit. His hand came down on the table once, flat, not a fist, a sound like a book dropped. The water in Penrose's glass trembled and went still.
Lydia looked from the folder to her sister's folded hands. "What change? Nobody called me."
Mark laughed, a short sound with no humor in it. He had already turned toward the windows, toward the length of the room he meant to use up. "They weren't going to."
"I can say the name," Penrose said.