Margaret closed her eyes.
The room seemed to tilt.
The little girl had been seven when she arrived.
Eight when she was removed.
Margaret had memorized that birthday because Claire had never had a proper birthday cake.
That first March, Margaret made one too large for the three of them who lived in the house then.
Chocolate with pink frosting.
Claire cried because nobody had ever written her full name in icing.
Margaret opened her eyes.
“I made you a rabbit cake.”
Claire pressed her lips together.
“The ears fell off.”
Margaret laughed once.
The sound broke into a sob.
“They did.”
Daniel sat down hard in the chair across from her.
“What are you saying?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Your wife lived here.”
“When?”
“Before you came home.”
Daniel blinked.
“I lived here.”
“You were in college.”
Daniel stared.
“You mean when I was at State?”
Margaret nodded.
His face tightened as he began doing the arithmetic.
“I was nineteen.”
“You came home weekends sometimes.”
“I would have remembered.”
“You met her once.”
Claire looked sharply at Margaret.
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Margaret’s gaze moved toward the kitchen doorway.
“You came home in October. Just overnight. You were more interested in going out with your friends than staying here.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed.
