It hadn’t worked. The failures began with her name. Early on her father had nicknamed her “Bett,” thank goodness. “Elizabeth” was intended to evoke the genteel grandeur of the Old World and a buxom lass with rosy cheeks who needlepointed and raised babies as her mother had. She hadn’t developed into anything remotely resembling “buxom,” didn’t sew and had yet to produce offspring. Her list of failures to fit the mold was ongoing. None of these “faults” was really so terrible; it was just that mothers and daughters were supposed to be close. Elizabeth and Bett weren’t, though they both tried very hard. Bett believed herself at fault, yet with all her efforts had never been able to bridge the distance between them.

At the moment, though, old memories weren’t in her mind. Protective feelings swamped her as she glanced once more in the rearview mirror before braking the truck in the farmyard. This time, Bett was determined she would come through for her mother. There would be no hurt feelings, no arguments, no impatience. Her mom needed help, and Bett had every intention of being there for her.

Still, her eyes settled uneasily on the U-Haul behind the Lincoln. How literally had Elizabeth taken Zach’s invitation to “stay as long as you like”?

***

The moment Bett opened the back door of her mother’s car, Sniper leaped into the car in a flurry of Persian fur, discovering her mother’s canary cage instantly as if he’d sensed the birds from half a mile away. “Behave yourself for once,” Bett hissed. The cat sprang to the top of the felt-covered cage, purring. Bett batted the animal down, and tried to work the cage out over a lopsided suitcase.

“Brittany?”

“Coming!” The canaries twittered; Sniper snaked out a paw and playfully clawed Bett’s wrist, then tried to leap on top of the cage again as Bett finally maneuvered it out of the car.

Elizabeth was waiting at the door to remove the wrap and coo at the two yellow birds. “I should have asked you if I could bring them. If you mind, darling-”