Watson had a stack of pancakes waiting for me in the morning with coffee and orange juice. I was sure this wasn’t a usual morning ritual for them, especially by the cautiously optimistic expression on his face as I sat down to eat with him. I was wearing a borrowed skirt and sweater—both Melinda’s, and both finer than anything in my ratty dorm room wardrobe.

“Melinda is already in her study,” he said, making a brave attempt at casual conversation. “I don’t think ...