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Roman arrived Saturday in her cerulean blue Toyota hybrid, parking in the brick, circular driveway. She crawled out of the car as I ran outside to greet her. Her head tilted upward; her gaze drawn to the eight triangular gables on the roofline of Richard’s house. “Wow.”

“Hello to you, too,” I said. Paying no attention to her gaping mouth, I hugged her until at last, she dropped the act and embraced me.

“Missed you, girl! And I have so much to tell you,” she said.

I gave her a short tour of the mansion and Grant showed Roman to her room down a long hall on the second floor, a wing of the house I hadn’t been in before. When I’d first arrived in Lake Forest, Richard had given me the lower level bedroom to stay in. A suite fit for a king—or queen. He didn’t often sleep in the bed with me, especially if he had work to catch up on.

I asked Grant, “Does Richard sleep up here, too?”

“Since you arrived, Mr. Mackenzie sleeps in the guest room at the other end of the hall. He typically works