“Most recently,” said Ms. Yoder, “she was—discovered—with a boy from town in her room.”

Next to her, Peter tightened his grip on the arm of the chair.

“In what state,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“What was the state of my daughter,” he said, “when she was found?”

“Oh,” said Ms. Yoder, reddening. “Clothed and all that.”

“But,” said Peter.

“But—well, the reality is we can’t be certain what they had been doing prior to Mrs. Burke’s entry into the room. Having an unmonitored boy in a girl’s bedroom is—certainly not ideal.”

She smiled slightly. Attempting to dispel some of the tension in the room. Kids! Ms. Yoder seemed to be saying, with the shape of her mouth.

But Peter was still as a stone. Alice could tell some decision was forming in his mind.

“Mr. Van Laar, let me assure you that we aren’t too concerned. This behavior is quite normal for a girl of Barbara’s age,” said Ms. Yoder. “We only want to be certain—”

Peter interrupted.

“And who is responsible for the oversight?”

Ms. Yoder frowned, confused. “Which—”

“Who is responsible for allowing the boy into the dormitory?”

“Well, Barbara is,” said Ms. Yoder.

For a moment, Alice was frightened. Peter was capable—not often, but capable—of outbursts. But Peter simply let Ms. Yoder’s words sit in the air.

“Who was the boy?” he said at last.

“I’m not sure of his name,” said Ms. Yoder. Her expression was changing, slightly. She was taking on a defiant aspect. Could she, too, have a temper? Alice wondered. She was usually so preoccupied by Peter’s that it rarely occurred to her to worry about anyone else’s.

“How old was he?” asked Peter.

“I’m not sure,” said Ms. Yoder. “But Mrs. Burke in West House didn’t seem concerned, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Peter wasn’t finished. “Please describe him,” he said.

Ms. Yoder sighed. “I was not there to see him,” she said. “But Mrs. Burke in West House described him as thin and dark-haired.” She had only seen the back of him, Ms. Yoder continued, as he escaped through the window—Barbara’s room was on the first floor—and ran into the woods that bordered the school.

“What was he wearing?” Peter had said.

“I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Mrs. Burke didn’t mention.”

“And Barbara?”

“She said he was a friend from town.”

Peter scoffed. A long silence ensued.

Alice focused on the objects in the room. A small marble statue of Lady Justice, blindfolded. On the bookshelves, a collection of books in neat rows, stripped of their jackets, organized by height. On the wall, a framed photo of a girls’ field hockey team from long ago. Ms. Yoder’s team when she was young, thought Alice.

She didn’t notice that Peter had risen from his chair. “Thank you, Miss Yoder,” he said. Emphasizing the first part of the name.

The woman furrowed her brow.

“I’m afraid there’s more to discuss,” she said. “In situations like these, we generally take some sort of disciplinary action.”

“Whatever you think best,” said Peter. “Come, Alice.”

She rose. But before they left the room, Ms. Yoder spoke again.

“Mrs. Van Laar,” she said, looking directly at her. Making a point. “May I answer any questions for you?”

If she did have questions, they would not come to her. And so she shook her head, and followed her husband silently from the room.

•   •   •

On the way to the car, Alice asked him if he might like to wait for Barbara, to talk to her directly. He shook his head.

“She’ll only lie,” said Peter. “I can’t abide it.”

In the car on the way back to Albany, he was silent while Alice, next to him, struggled to find something to say.

She had noticed recently that she was adopting the habits of Peter’s mother, who on most occasions sat off to one side, smiling pleasantly, largely letting her husband run the show. When Alice had first met her, she had wondered about her intelligence. But on the rare occasions the two of them were alone, Mrs. Van Laar had demonstrated a capacity for conversation that went beyond anything she displayed to her own husband. She was even witty, in her way.

“Early for the leaves to be changing,” said Alice, finally. And Peter affirmed that it was.

•   •   •

That night, he came to Alice to tell her that a decision had been made. The Emily Grange School couldn’t handle Barbara, he said. She’d have to go someplace else.

After consulting on the phone with a friend later that evening, Peter had emerged from his room with an announcement. Barbara would be enrolled next year at Élan, a school in Maine for children with discipline issues. He described it as a “behavior modification program.”

They’d have the summer together at the Preserve, he told her; and then she would go.

“Tell Barbara, would you?” he said, casually. Alice flinched.

“She’ll hate it,” said Alice.