“How sweet,” she said. “It looks like you two had fun. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t home for Christmas.”
“It’s okay,” Beth said. Her mother had been so sad ever since Beth’s grandmother died. She’d probably just gone off to be sad somewhere, Beth decided, since Lily was here to keep her company. It wouldn’t be much of a Christmas if your mother had just died.
Beth had explained this to Lily, who had given her a blank look. Beth had to remember that Lily didn’t understand anything about mothers.
Her mother looked past Beth at Lily and said her name, the word seeming to twist in her throat. “Lillian . . .”
“Yes, Mrs. Greer?” Lillian asked sweetly.
Mariana just looked at her. Beth noticed that Lily and her mother had the same color hair, the same pretty blond.
“Nothing,” Mariana said after a moment. “You two sweet girls have fun.” She went upstairs, and Beth heard her parents’ bedroom door click shut.
Beth’s father came home the next day, ragged, tired. He looked at Beth and said, “Housekeeping will be here in an hour. Have them clean up this mess.” Then he turned to Lily. “Pack your bags. You’re going home.”
“No!” Beth cried.
“Shut up,” her father said, and even though he wasn’t a very warm father, even though he expected her to be neat and quiet and never play, he’d never said those words to her before. He turned to Lily again and said, “You have five minutes. I’ll have a taxi at the door to take you to wherever you’re going.”
Lily looked up at him with wide, sweet eyes. “Yes, Mr. Greer,” she said.
Beth followed Lily upstairs to pack. She felt like crying, but Lily was unperturbed. She didn’t even seem concerned that she was being sent out into the world, into a taxi, alone, at age eight. Beth didn’t want to cry in front of her, didn’t want to seem like a baby.
“Will you come back?” she asked as Lily slung her single cloth bag, filled with only a few clothes and a toothbrush, over her shoulder.
“Yes,” Lily said. “They can’t keep me from this house. No one can.”
* * *
—
Over dinner one night a week later, Beth asked her mother and father who Lily’s parents were.
Mariana glanced at Julian, then looked back at Beth. “I’m glad you two are such good friends,” she said, touching Beth’s hair. “And Lily doesn’t have parents. Isn’t that sad?”
“Everyone has parents,” Beth said. “Kids don’t come from storks. I know that now.”
“Well, no, she didn’t come from a stork,” Mariana said, picking up her fork and studying the silver tines. “Goodness. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to about babies. I’ll have to call the school and ask what they’re teaching these days. I meant that Lillian’s parents are dead.”
“But who are they?” Beth said. “Did you know them? Is that why she came to visit?”
Mariana looked uncertain. “Yes,” she said. “I knew them. Lillian’s mother was a friend of mine, but she’s dead now, and I feel bad for that little girl. She’s practically your cousin. Okay?”
At the other side of the table, Beth’s father put his fork down and pushed his chair back. He walked out of the dining room without a word.
Beth knew her mother was lying to her, because Lily had said that her mother wasn’t dead at all. Her father knew she was lying, too.
But Mariana pretended that nothing was wrong, even though everything was wrong, just like she always did. “He’s just angry,” she said of Julian, smiling and touching Beth’s hair again. “He doesn’t like little girls the way I do.”