But then Uncle Karel came by for dinner one bleak winter day, and he sat at the big table in his dandruff-speckled jumper, leaned in, and said: “You will understand, Isabel, now that your mother is gone, that you must be your own guardian. You must make your own connections.” He wiped at his lips with a napkin. “Don’t be a burden to your brothers, they will have their own lives. You can’t ask too much. And I won’t be here, I’ll have my own business, you understand. I’m not saying this to be harsh. I am saying it because it’s how these things go, and there is no one else who will tell you.”
