“And then?”
“She and her husband became licensed foster parents.”
Margaret’s voice was barely audible.
“She fostered you?”
Claire nodded.
“Then adopted me when I was eleven.”
Margaret sat down again.
Daniel looked at his wife.
“You said your adoptive mother’s name was Edith?”
“I told you my mother’s name was Edith when we first met. Later I stopped using the word adoptive because it made every conversation longer.”
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“Did I ever meet her?”
“Twice.”
“When?”
“Our wedding.”
Margaret looked up.
Claire nodded.
“She was there.”
Margaret stared.
At the wedding.
She remembered an older woman in pale lavender.
Short gray hair.
Pearl earrings.
She had introduced herself as Claire’s mother.
Margaret had shaken her hand.
There had been noise around them.
Music.
People moving toward the reception tables.
The woman had held Margaret’s gaze a moment longer than politeness required.
At the time, Margaret thought nothing of it.
Now she felt sick.
“She knew me.”
Claire frowned.
“What?”
“Edith knew exactly who I was.”
Daniel looked at his mother.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I met with her every month for nearly a year.”
Margaret pushed her chair back.
“She sat in this kitchen.”
