Sally couldn't tell her that though she thought her birthday had come and gone in that place, she couldn't seem to see the day in her mind, couldn't dredge up anyone saying anything to her, not that she could imagine it anyway. She couldn't even remember if her father had been there. She prayed he hadn't. She couldn't tell Amabel about that, she just couldn't. She shook her head, smiled, and said, not lying well, "It was just a way of speaking, Aunt Amabel. I'd love some tea and a drop of brandy." Amabel sat her niece down in the kitchen at her old pine table that had three magazines under one leg to keep it steady.

At least she'd made cushions for the wooden seats, so they were comfortable. She put the kettle on the gas burner and turned it on. "There," she said. "That won't take too long."

Sally watched her put a Lipton tea bag into each cup and pour in the brandy. Amabel said, "I always pour the brandy in first. It soaks into the tea bag and makes the flavor stronger. Brandy's expensive and I've got to make it last. This bottle"-she lifted the Christian Brothers- "is going on its third month. Not bad. You'll see, you'll like it."

"No one followed me, Aunt Amabel. I was really careful. I imagine you know that everyone is after me.

But I managed to get away. As far as I know, no one knows about you. Noelle never told a soul. Only Father knew about you, and he's dead."

Amabel just nodded. Sally sat quietly, watching Amabel move around her small kitchen, each action smooth and efficient. She was graceful, this aunt of hers in her hippie clothes. She looked at those strong hands, the long fingers, the short, buffed nails painted an awesome bright red. Amabel was an artist, she remembered that now. She couldn't see any resemblance at all to Noelle, Amabel's younger sister.

Amabel was dark as a gypsy, while Noelle was blond and fair-complexioned, blue-eyed and soft as a pillow.

Like me, Sally thought. But Sally wasn't soft anymore. She was hard as a brick.