Then came Evelyn’s fifth birthday.
She had insisted on a yellow dress with daisies because “sunshine dress” sounded prettier than “party dress.” Our living room was full of balloons and paper streamers, and the cake sat on the dining table under a plastic cover, waiting for our friends to arrive. Norton was on the floor helping Evelyn arrange little plastic cups for juice, though she kept turning them upside down and declaring them hats.
The doorbell rang.
I wiped my hands on a towel and hurried to the front door, expecting our neighbors or maybe my cousin with her twins.
Instead, Eliza stood on the porch.
For a second I genuinely thought I was seeing a ghost from a life we had deliberately left behind.
She wore a cream coat despite the warm weather, and her expression was strange. Not angry. Not smug. Just severe, almost grim.
“Hello,” I said cautiously.
She looked past me into the house, then back at my face. “He still hasn’t told you anything?”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
Without answering, she brushed past me and walked into the living room.
Norton looked up.
The color drained from his face so fast it frightened me.
Evelyn, delighted by any unexpected visitor, clapped her hands. “Gamma!”
Eliza did not respond to her. Instead, she turned to me, took my wrist in her cool fingers, and said, “She needs to know the truth. It’s better if you tell her.”
The room seemed to tilt.
