Jane walked into the house without bothering to knock. She'd never needed to knock here. She heard the expected sounds – the low drone of the baseball announcer, the bright metallic clatter of pot on stove, the delicate strains of the classical music Maura insisted on playing every week ("I think with greater exposure you'll all come to find such value and beauty in it!") – but she also heard something unexpected. Jane decided to forgo taking off her shoes in the hallway to investigate what, exactly, was making Tommy whoop like that. She rounded the corner and saw her mother in the kitchen, coaxing a reluctant Korsak to stir the sauce. She saw Frost and Tommy sitting in their usual spots, with their eyes fixed on the couch. Frost looked uncomfortable, Tommy looked enthralled. Jane couldn't tell how Frankie looked, because his face was blocked by Maura's. He was kissing her for all he was worth.