I didn’t turn my phone back on until the next morning. Ninety-one messages. Most of them were from Darcy. A few were from relatives explaining that the restaurant had held everyone’s cards until the bill was settled, and that Darcy had walked out to the parking lot to “make a call” and never came back. In the end, Uncle Gil and Aunt Marla split it with Dad.

At nine o’clock, someone knocked on my door. It was Dad, alone, still wearing yesterday’s sport coat, holding a paper bag from the hardware store. He asked to see the twins. I didn’t let him in yet. “Why do you always let her do it?” I asked. Dad looked down at the porch, the way he had looked at the restaurant carpet. “Because she’s been paying my gambling debts for six years,” he said. “And she knows you don’t know.”