Frankie, like the youngest Bergman, Ziggy, is on the autism spectrum—bright, unfiltered, and quickly overwhelmed by busy, loud spaces like the Bergman house or a bustling art gallery. My anxiety’s not a huge fan of those spaces, either. “Smart lady,” I mutter. Ren nods. “Yep. So she’s having a quiet night in at home.” Rooney smooths back her dark-blonde hair and smiles gently. “Well, I’m glad she felt comfortable doing what she needed, but I miss seeing her. I really like her, Ren.” Ren grins again. “Yeah. She’s the best.”
