Chapter 24: Maple Court

By the last Sunday in June, Maple Court was the loudest house on the street.

The yellow room had two cribs in it now, side by side, and nobody had painted over the walls.

Cadence's son had been born nine days after my daughter, in the same hospital, with the same nurse.

He had come out fast and looked around the room with a loud complaint.

"He gets that from his father," Cadence said.

"He gets the early arrival from you," I said.

She laughed and handed him to Lacey, who had taken over the rocking chair and now treated it as a post.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon.

The landlady had arrived at ten with two trays of rolls and had not stopped giving orders since.

"You're holding that wrong," she told Marshall.

"I'm holding it exactly like you showed me."

"Then I showed you wrong. Give it here."

She took my daughter from him, tucked her into one arm, and went back to stirring a pot with the other.

The baby slept through it.

She still had no name that would stay.

We had tried six in eight weeks, and she looked offended by all of them.

My mother sat at the head of the table in a borrowed chair with a lemon bar in each hand.

Willow Run had let her out for the day.

The nurse who came with her had been told to keep her warm and had instead been given a plate.

"This is the one with the lawyer," she said to the old driver who sat at her left.

"Yes, ma'am," the driver said. "I've met him."