Her eyes widened.
“I’m joking.”
She narrowed hers.
“Probably.”
She still asked if she could inherit the company when she turned eighteen.
“No.”
“Twenty-one?”
“No.”
“Thirty?”
“We’ll discuss your résumé.”
She accepted that.
Mostly.
Two months after the store incident, I brought Maeve and Ellie to the old house Lorna and I shared.
Not my current city apartment.
The original house near Bellmere where Lorna lived until her death.
Maeve had never been there.
I showed her photographs.
Lorna at twenty.
Maelis at five.
The sisters at a summer picnic.
One image stopped Maeve.
Lorna and Maelis sat side by side on a dock.
Lorna eighteen.
Maelis three.
Same chin mark.
Same eyes Ellie had.
Maeve touched the photograph.
“Can I have a copy?”
“Yes.”
Ellie looked.
“That’s Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“She looks like Mom.”
Maeve rolled her eyes.
“You say everyone looks like me.”
“You do.”
Then Ellie pointed at Lorna.
