* * *
He had turned off the television, which had been murmuring a football game with the sound down, and he had put the lights back in the bin, still knotted. He was standing by the fireplace with his arms crossed and then uncrossed and then crossed again, a big man not knowing what to do with his hands. The reindeer gift bag Ivy had found lay crumpled on the coffee table, red tissue paper hanging out of it like a tongue.
Renée came down the two steps into the den and laid the cardigan over the arm of the couch. She set the heel on the coffee table beside the gift bag. She set the bracelet beside the heel. Then she sat down on the couch, on the far end, under the plaid throw, and folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
"She's asleep?" Matt said.
"Almost."
"What did she say?"
"You first."
He rubbed his face with both hands. When he took them away, he looked older. The gray at his temples seemed to have spread in the last twenty minutes, though she knew that was impossible.
"It's Lauren," he said. "Lauren Voss."
"I know who it is. Ivy told me her name. Miss Lauren." She let that sit for a second. "Our daughter calls her Miss Lauren, Matt."
He flinched. "Ren. Let me just tell it. Let me tell it from the start, okay? And then you can—whatever you want to do. You can yell at me. You can throw something. Just let me tell it first."