Chapter 16: Lemon Cake

Annabel's POV

Carol came at noon on Saturday with a casserole in one hand and a lemon cake in the other.

She wore the blue cardigan with the cross pinned to the collar, and her eyes were already wet.

"Oh, my girl," she said on the doorstep. "Oh, look at you. You're so thin."

I let her hug me.

I had been hugged by her for sixteen years, and I knew exactly how it felt, and I stood in it with my arms at my sides.

The woman from room four had gone to the market on purpose, with a list she hadn't needed.

Colter sat in the front office with the door shut and a pair of headphones on.

On the kitchen table, beside the sugar bowl, lay the pen with its small steady light.

Carol didn't look at it.

She looked at the baby asleep in the bassinet by the window.

"May I?" she said.

"Wash your hands first."

She laughed softly and went to the sink.

Then she lifted my daughter out, and the baby opened her eyes and didn't cry.

"There you are," Carol whispered. "There's my girl. Grandma's here."

I watched her rock my child.

It would have been easy to hate her if she were cruel in front of me.

She was gentle, which was worse.

"Sheldon came for pot roast last Sunday," she said, to the baby. "He didn't eat a bite. He kept looking at me."

"What did you tell him?"

"That he was tired." She glanced up. "What did you tell him, honey?"

"The truth about the bowl."

"And nothing else?"

"What else is there?"

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