up.”
Brittany scowled. “I can’t help it if I’m sick.”
“Of course you can’t,” Lydia soothed. She turned to Greta. “And you’ve been a patient little girl,” she fibbed. “Now we have to figure out what to do.”
“Take Greta, Grandma,” Brittany said weakly. “I’ll be okay.”
Lydia pursed her lips. Brittany was a sensible little girl. She would be eight years old in March, and, as far as Lydia was concerned, capable of staying on her own for the fifteen or twenty minutes it would take to get the doll. When Meredith was that age, Lydia occasionally ran out for milk or some necessary item. Meredith never minded because she always brought her back some little treat.
Now times were different. People hesitated about allowing their children to walk home from the neighborhood elementary school until they were about to graduate from fifth grade. They hired babysitters for twelve-year-olds. She shuddered, imagining her daughter’s wrath were something to go wrong while Brittany stayed alone in the house.
But nothing would, and Greta was tugging at her sleeve urging her to hurry. Lydia studied Brittany. “Are you sure you don’t mind staying alone?”
Brittany shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Don’t open the door to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
Lydia tried to think what else to warn her about, when Greta said, “Let’s go, Grammy.”
She bent down to kiss Brittany’s forehead. “We’ll be right back. Stay here and read, and everything will be perfectly okay.”
Lydia belted Greta into the new car seat she’d bought over the weekend and drove quickly but cautiously to Twin Lakes. She made two green lights and, after stopping and checking that no cars were coming, turned right on a red light. Cheerful because she was finally getting her present, Greta chattered about the children in her morning nursery school class.
Lydia drove past the gatehouse and was about to turn right, onto N Boulevard, when she noticed the two cars facing each other. Their owners were gabbing away, oblivious to the fact that they were blocking traffic. Preferring not to disturb them, she continued straight on Lake Boulevard.
“I’m going to name my new doll Annabelle,” Greta said.
“That’s nice, honey.”
“Yesterday my teacher Nancy read us a story about a doll named Annabelle.”
Lydia couldn’t respond. The sight of her daughter’s SUV parked in a driveway beside a red Jaguar made her heart leap into her throat.
No, it couldn’t be Meredith’s, but another green vehicle the same make, the same model. Lydia slowed down and read the license plate number. It was Meredith’s car, all right!
“Grammy?”
What on earth was she doing at Twin Lakes? She’d said she was meeting a friend at the mall. Lydia remembered her daughter’s reluctance to discuss her plans, her eagerness to leave. Obviously, Meredith didn’t want her mother to know where she was going. Which meant she was here for a surreptitious reason. Lydia’s worst fear was confirmed. Meredith was having an affair.
“Grammy, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?”
“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” Lydia managed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I just remembered something I have to take care of.”
She drove slowly home and retrieved the doll, which she’d left on the hall table.
“Here you are, sweetie: Annabelle.”
“Ooh, she’s so pretty!”
Lydia was buckling her own seat belt when Greta called to her. She turned around and smiled at the sight of her granddaughter’s outstretched arms. They shared an awkward but heartfelt hug.
“Thank you, Grammy. I love Annabelle already.”
“I’m so glad.” She shifted into reverse and backed out slowly, the warm feeling of child love spreading through her body.
Then she remembered. She turned right and drove slowly past the house on Lake Boulevard again. Meredith’s SUV was still there. This time Lydia noted the number above the garage: 78. She’d look up
Brittany scowled. “I can’t help it if I’m sick.”
“Of course you can’t,” Lydia soothed. She turned to Greta. “And you’ve been a patient little girl,” she fibbed. “Now we have to figure out what to do.”
“Take Greta, Grandma,” Brittany said weakly. “I’ll be okay.”
Lydia pursed her lips. Brittany was a sensible little girl. She would be eight years old in March, and, as far as Lydia was concerned, capable of staying on her own for the fifteen or twenty minutes it would take to get the doll. When Meredith was that age, Lydia occasionally ran out for milk or some necessary item. Meredith never minded because she always brought her back some little treat.
Now times were different. People hesitated about allowing their children to walk home from the neighborhood elementary school until they were about to graduate from fifth grade. They hired babysitters for twelve-year-olds. She shuddered, imagining her daughter’s wrath were something to go wrong while Brittany stayed alone in the house.
But nothing would, and Greta was tugging at her sleeve urging her to hurry. Lydia studied Brittany. “Are you sure you don’t mind staying alone?”
Brittany shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Don’t open the door to anyone.”
“I won’t.”
Lydia tried to think what else to warn her about, when Greta said, “Let’s go, Grammy.”
She bent down to kiss Brittany’s forehead. “We’ll be right back. Stay here and read, and everything will be perfectly okay.”
Lydia belted Greta into the new car seat she’d bought over the weekend and drove quickly but cautiously to Twin Lakes. She made two green lights and, after stopping and checking that no cars were coming, turned right on a red light. Cheerful because she was finally getting her present, Greta chattered about the children in her morning nursery school class.
Lydia drove past the gatehouse and was about to turn right, onto N Boulevard, when she noticed the two cars facing each other. Their owners were gabbing away, oblivious to the fact that they were blocking traffic. Preferring not to disturb them, she continued straight on Lake Boulevard.
“I’m going to name my new doll Annabelle,” Greta said.
“That’s nice, honey.”
“Yesterday my teacher Nancy read us a story about a doll named Annabelle.”
Lydia couldn’t respond. The sight of her daughter’s SUV parked in a driveway beside a red Jaguar made her heart leap into her throat.
No, it couldn’t be Meredith’s, but another green vehicle the same make, the same model. Lydia slowed down and read the license plate number. It was Meredith’s car, all right!
“Grammy?”
What on earth was she doing at Twin Lakes? She’d said she was meeting a friend at the mall. Lydia remembered her daughter’s reluctance to discuss her plans, her eagerness to leave. Obviously, Meredith didn’t want her mother to know where she was going. Which meant she was here for a surreptitious reason. Lydia’s worst fear was confirmed. Meredith was having an affair.
“Grammy, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking to me?”
“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” Lydia managed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. I just remembered something I have to take care of.”
She drove slowly home and retrieved the doll, which she’d left on the hall table.
“Here you are, sweetie: Annabelle.”
“Ooh, she’s so pretty!”
Lydia was buckling her own seat belt when Greta called to her. She turned around and smiled at the sight of her granddaughter’s outstretched arms. They shared an awkward but heartfelt hug.
“Thank you, Grammy. I love Annabelle already.”
“I’m so glad.” She shifted into reverse and backed out slowly, the warm feeling of child love spreading through her body.
Then she remembered. She turned right and drove slowly past the house on Lake Boulevard again. Meredith’s SUV was still there. This time Lydia noted the number above the garage: 78. She’d look up
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