Adam said, very quietly, "Natalie."
"The papers were the next day," she said. "The relinquishment hearing. I went to court on the fifteenth with the social worker, and the judge asked me if I understood what I was doing and if I'd been coerced, and I said yes and no. And that was it. Ten minutes. And then I took the bus back to Gilpin Street and got into bed and stayed there for most of a month."
* * *
The studio's lamplight had deepened. Outside the front windows, Second Avenue had gone blue with dusk, and the streetlights had come on, and a couple walked past below with a dog in a red coat. Natalie watched them go. She found it remarkable that people were still walking dogs.
"So that's the photograph," Adam said at last. His voice was rough. "That's why he remembered you."
"No," Calvin said. "Not just that."
They both looked at him.