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cousin, Mr. Riordan.”
    Valentina looked around at the various upholstered chairs and settees grouped in clusters around the large room. About half the groupings were occupied by one or more people. “Okay,” she said, and smoothly led the way to an unoccupied cluster of four chairs a few steps away.
    She sat down as gracefully as she walked—Kassie wondered if she was a trained dancer, or had been one in her youth.
    â€œHow is he?” asked Valentina.
    â€œDoing well. The doctor thinks he’ll recover completely—but it will take time. His right leg was broken in two places, and he’s suffered some broken ribs as well. Plus he has a concussion, a bruised liver, and other internal injuries. He’s not a young man, but he was in good health before the accident. It’s just going to take some time.”
    â€œBut he’s not going home anytime soon.”
    â€œNo. He’s going to need some therapy on that leg. And . . .” Kassie hesitated, then plunged in. “I’m afraid his house is in very bad shape. He appears to be a . . .”
    â€œHe’s a junker, right?”
    â€œJunker?”
    â€œHe collects things. Like his dad, and his grandad. He buys things at garage sales, and will even take home things that other people throw out. Right?”
    â€œSo you know about that. And yes, but it’s possibly worse than you think. Every room of his house is full of things he’s . . . collected.”
    â€œOh yes?” But Valentina didn’t sound surprised.
    â€œThat’s not all,” Kassie said.
    â€œNo?” Valentina’s dark eyes looked directly at the social worker.
    â€œThe house itself is in bad repair. It’s not just his bedroom—which is open to the elements where the tree came through. The kitchen and bathroom are infested with mold, and I believe the plumbing needs to be completely redone. Until it’s been fixed, Mr. Riordan will not be permitted to live in the house.” Kassie felt awful to be delivering such bad news; Ms. Shipp looked as if she had been struck in the face.
    But she did not erupt; instead, her eyes closed for about thirty seconds while she seemed to be struggling to absorb what she was hearing. Kassie wondered if she would change her mind about helping her cousin.
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Kassie at last, trying for a reaction.
    â€œMe, too,” said Valentina, opening her eyes. Then, typically, she went on the attack. “You’re his social worker. How did you allow the house to get into such a state?”
    â€œWell, for one thing, he absolutely refused to allow anyone to come inside the place. He said he had some valuable things in there and didn’t want anyone to know about them because he couldn’t afford to insure them. I didn’t exactly believe him—about having things of great value—but I wanted to respect his privacy. He’s a nice man, but . . . sensitive. I didn’t want to make him angry, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” Kassie was ashamed, because the excuses she was offering were pretty lame. Sometimes—often, actually—it was her job to hurt some feelings. She had let Tom Riordan down. Perhaps if her caseload had been lighter, she would have paid more attention. But Mr. Riordan had been polite and sweet and only a little strange, so she’d been content to visit him as scheduled, only at a restaurant or in the library or at her office rather than in his home. “I’m sorry.”
    Valentina sighed, trying to cool her temper. She looked around the big room, glanced at the nearest television set hanging from the ceiling, then looked at Kassie. “What are you expecting me to do?”
    â€œWhat we’re hoping you will do, first of all, is talk to him. Tell him what his doctor has been trying to tell him, convince him that he really can’t go home right now