The other night, Ava Scarlett kept coming into the kitchen holding up photos in her hands, asking me who’s this? and where was this? and is this Oliver or me? and was I borned yet? She must have come to see me about a dozen times before I finally followed her back to the TV room, whereupon I found this scene: an exploded box of loose, random photos of family and friends that Madame was busy arranging all over the coffee table.