"Noelle is fine, I think," Sally said. "I didn't know where else to go, so I came here. Can I stay here, Aunt Amabel, just for a little while? Just until I can think of something, make some plans?"

"Of course you can. Look at that black wig and all that makeup on your face. Why, baby?"

The endearment undid her. She'd not cried, not once, until now, until this woman she didn't really know called her "baby." Her aunt's hands were stroking her back, her voice was low and soothing. "It's all right, lovey. I promise you, everything will be all right now. Come in, Sally, and I'll take care of you.

That's what I told your mama when I first saw you. You were the cutest little thing, so skinny, your arms Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

and legs wobbly like a colt's, and the biggest smile I'd ever seen. I wanted to take care of you then.

You'll be safe here. Come on, baby."

The damnable tears wouldn't stop. They just kept dripping down her face, ruining the god-awful thick black mascara. She even tasted it, and when she swiped her hand over her face it came away with black streaks.

"I look like a circus clown," she said, swallowing hard to stop the tears, to smile, to make herself smile.

She took out the green-colored contacts. With the crying, they hurt.

"No, you look like a little girl trying on her mama's makeup. That's right, take out those ugly contacts. Ah, now you've got your pretty blue eyes again. Come to the kitchen and I'll make you some tea. I always put a drop of brandy in mine. It wouldn't hurt you one little bit. How old are you now, Sally?"

"Twenty-six, I think."

"What do you mean, you think?" her aunt said, cocking her head to one side, making the gold hoop earring hang straight down almost to her shoulder.