He doesn't mention names. He doesn't mention what happened, really, although somehow, that makes it feel all the clearer to Effy, her voice momentarily drawing into the same quiet that she knew for all those years, comfortable only in that she never had to force herself to find the right words. Never had to hold herself to the standard of saving someone with them, or making the smile. A girl without words is powerless, but in some ways, Effy thinks, such a girl ends up all the more powerful for it. He doesn't say what happened, and she has no way of knowing without that confirmation, yet Effy doesn't need it.

She understands implicitly.

"They made me forget once," Effy wonders aloud, and it's the swing that forces her to remain strong now, because she's not sure her voice would maintain such calm without hands busied. "Everything. My brother, Cook, the people who mattered more to me than my parents. They made me forget, because it was supposed to be easier."