them up, then stopped dead in my tracks. I turned to her; our eyes locked and I knew. I just knew.
“You fed the baby? Emma, I told you, never give him anything, ever!”
“But, Mommy, he has a tooth!”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He looked like he wanted my breakfast.”
“Emma,” I said evenly, “only mommies and daddies can feed babies. Not sisters. Not ever.”
She ate her cereal silently, her eyes down, like Theo’s.
“Look at me so I know that you heard me!”
Her eyes met mine, but they were as flat and dull as a lake. I picked the raisins off the floor and sat with her while she finished eating, struggling to think of something to say.
“Should we go for a walk later?” I asked, trying to sound upbeat. “After nap time? To the park?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Would you like to plant flowers? We could gather leaves and acorns and stones. We could make a fairy garden.”
“I guess,” she said, and I nodded, then cleared the plates away. Maybe she’d be more enthusiastic later.
At nap time, I pulled a crystal bell off the cabinet in the dining room, tied a ribbon around it, and hung it on the baby’s door. If my daughter had been a cat, I think I would have hung one around her neck.
Downstairs I kicked off my shoes and picked up the front section of the paper, and a few minutes later I was asleep, too. Half an hour later, the doorbell woke me. Sarah? I thought hopefully, but no, it was Aunt Caro, carrying a small tote bag.
“Sorry I didn’t call first. You look a fright.”
“The baby’s teething. I haven’t slept.”
“Well, I’d offer to help you but I’m miserable with babies. It’s a miracle mine lived to adulthood.”
“It’s a miracle any of them do,” I sighed, thinking of the raisins.
“I brought you some things of your mother’s,” she said. “They were in storage.”
“Storage?” I blinked. “Where?”
“A safe-deposit box.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “she and I emptied that when she went into the nursing home. I have her pearls and her high school ri—”
“This is a second box.”
I frowned.
“It was in my name,” she said quietly. “I opened it for her when she started to think Frank was hiding assets.”
I looked in the tote. A navy velvet ring box, a key, and a beige satin bag that looked as if it held lingerie. I lifted the lid of the box.
“An emerald ring?”
“Surely you don’t remember it. Your mother rarely wore it.”
“Why? It’s so beautiful.”
“I don’t know,” she said too quickly, with a wave of her hand. “Too big and gaudy.” She picked at the hem of her skirt.
“It’s not that big,” I said, slipping it on my finger. The mounting curled slightly around each side of the stone, like a gold vine. “The setting reminds me of a sculpture,” I said.
“Well, it’s quite a bit of gold. You could sell it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Well, it has no real meaning. It’s not as if your father gave it to her.”
I sighed. “That wouldn’t have much meaning, either, I’m afraid.”
I took it off and twirled it to appreciate the setting of the intertwined gold, which was almost, well, floral.
“Who did give it to her?”
“No idea.”
“Huh,” I said, squinting. “Who’s Rose?”
“What?”
“The inscription.”
“What inscription?” She yanked it out of my hand.
“It says, ‘To my rose.’ Did Mom have any friends named Rose?”
“No idea,” she said breezily, handing it back.
I picked up the key: LIPSKI FURRIERS.
“I thought she sold her mink.”
“No. She kept it for you.” She handed me the satin roll. “And this will help pay for the storage fees.”
I unwrapped the roll, expecting more jewelry, but there was a stack of $100 bills, thirty of them. I looked up at my aunt, who shrugged.
“She said it was all she could gather up. After Frank left I told her to put it in the bank but she seemed to think he could still get his hands on anything that wasn’t locked away.”
“That must have been such a nightmare for her.”
“She knew nothing about money. And clearly, neither did your father. I hope you haven’t inherited this propensity.”
I scowled. “He was the man who knew too much, I’d say.”
“Ann,” she said softly, “if you listen to nothing else I’ve ever told you, listen to this: the stock market is not a playpen.”
I blinked. Was Aunt Caro going senile on me, too?
“She owed you money,” I said, handing it back.
“She owed me nothing, Ann. Take it and go on vacation. Or buy a savings