* * *
The kitchen was yellow, with oak cabinets and a linoleum floor and a calendar from a feed store hanging by the phone, still open to September. There were medicine bottles lined up on the counter by the sink, a whole pharmacy of them, and a stack of mail that no one had opened, and a casserole dish covered in foil with a sticky note on it that said FROM THE LUNDQUISTS — 350 FOR 40 MIN. Renée sat at the round oak table. Lauren poured her coffee in a mug that said WORLD'S OKAYEST FISHERMAN, and then sat down across from her, and neither of them said anything for a while.
Renée set the bag on the table between them.
Lauren didn't touch it. "Is she okay?" she said. "Your daughter. Ivy."
"She found these in our Christmas decorations. She came downstairs wearing them on Saturday night. She asked her father if she was a Christmas movie star." Renée watched Lauren's face. "She said you told her that."
Lauren closed her eyes. "I did. I said that. I didn't know what else to say. She was standing there in her pajamas looking at us, and I just—I said the first stupid thing that came into my head."
"She thought it was a game. She thought you were a princess. She told me it was like Cinderella but backward."
Lauren made a sound that was half a laugh and half something else entirely, and pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth.
"She also told me," Renée said, "that her father asked her to keep it a secret from me."
Lauren lowered her hand. "He did?"
"He didn't tell you that."