This mention of constellations, his brother—it prompts the barest flicker of good humor out of her, a heretofore rare spark of something other than the drawn, (over)thinking quality of her bearing that seems to have defined her both in that department store and at the, quote unquote, dinner party. It's possible that in circumstances that don't involve being trapped in a malevolent 1960s Coca-Cola ad that Maureen is fun.

(Maybe. No one ask her kids' opinions on that.)

"Yeah." A fine web of wrinkles flex briefly at the corners of her eyes. "I did the same thing when I was a kid. Drove my mom crazy. I think she regretted getting me the telescope for Christmas."