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Nina got up and went to the bed, turning on the lahost, un, her eyes closed

“I am tired You will leave me now ”

Nina wanted to argue She could sit in the dark and listen to her ht The fairy tale connected the it, too; Nina was certain Mo deeper into the story than ever before Did she, like Nina, want to keep it going? Had Dad asked that of her?

“Can I bring you anything before I go?” Nina asked

“My knitting ”

Nina looked around, saw the bulging bag stuffed alongside the rocking chair Retrieving it, she went back to the bed In no tireenthe click click click of the needles as she closed the door

She stopped by the bathroom and pushed the door open The room was empty

Alone, she went downstairs and put a log on the dwindling fire She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on the hearth

“Wow,” she said “Wow ”

It was a hell of a story, worth listening to, if for no other reason than to hear her mother speak with such passion and power The woman who told that story was someone else entirely, not the cold, distant Anya Whitson of Nina’s youth

Was that the secret her father wanted her to glimpse? That somewhere, buried beneath the silent exterior, lay a different wolimpse—finally—at the woman hom he had fallen in love?

Or was there more to it? The story was so much richer and more detailed than she remembered Or maybe she hadn’t really listened before The story had always been soranted; like a picture you saw so often you never wondered who it was that had taken it, or who that was standing in the background But once you’d noticed the oddity, it threw everything else into question

Meredith hadn’t intended to listen to her mother’s fairy tale, but as she sat in the ridiculously overstocked bathrooh drawers full of over-the-counter and prescriptionback to 1980, she heard The Voice

That was how she’d always thought of it, even as a girl

Withoutthe box, ed it into the hallway There she heard the words froh the open door