“You people always hear things the wrong way.”
I pointed toward the door.
“I think tonight’s visit is over.”
She stared at me.
“You’re asking me to leave because of a dress?”
“No.”
I kept my voice calm.
“I’m asking you to leave because an eight-year-old just explained compassion more clearly than you did.”
She looked at Cyril.
He said nothing.
A few moments later, she left.
The following afternoon, we walked next door for Lucy’s birthday.
Calling it a party might have been generous.
There were seven people.
Six balloons.
A grocery-store cake.
Some paper plates.
And one little girl who didn’t seem to care that the celebration wasn’t elaborate.
Noah carried the garment bag with both hands.
“This is for Lucy.”
Hannah blinked.
“For Lucy?”
“Open it.”
The moment she saw the dress, she looked straight at me.
“Adele, this is too much.”
