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"Mrs. Boston called to tell me your brother started a fire in the garbage can using the make-up mirror the Hammersteins gave you and the magnifying glass from the stationery set the Malamuds gave you," she said, shaking her head.

"What? How?"

"He directed the sunlight into the can and used the magnifying glass to burn a hole in some of the gift wrap paper. I think I had better give Mrs. Boston a raise," she added and sighed.

"Aunt Fern just left," I said.

"Oh. That's good, although I think her days at this particular college are numbered," Mommy said.

"I don't know why she's so mean and unhappy, Mommy. You and Daddy are always nice to her and have done so much for her."

Mommy sat back a moment and thought. Then a smile of wisdom flashed in her eyes.

"Momma Longchamp used to say some cows are just born to give sour milk, no matter how sweet the grass they feed on."

"It must have been so strange for you, Mommy, having two mothers," I said. She nodded. "You first met Uncle Philip when you and Daddy went to Emerson Peabody, right?" I asked. Her eyes grew small.

"Yes," she said. "And Clara."

"And for a long time, you didn't know he was really your brother?"

She stared at me for a moment.

"Yes, Christie. Why do you ask? Did Fern say something to you about it?" she demanded quickly.

I nodded. I couldn't keep anything secret from her.

"She would do that." She paused and then after a deep breath, she said, "It's true, I met Philip there and for a short time, we became boyfriend and girlfriend, but nothing ugly happened, no matter what Fern told you," she added quickly.

"She didn't really tell me anything. She just made it seem as if . . ."

"Fern hates herself so much, she just wants to make life miserable for everyone else

too," she said.

"I wouldn't believe anything she said anyway," I said. She smiled and nodded.

"You really are growing up fast, honey, and you should be told everything about the family. I want you to know something, Christie," she declared, her eyes fixed on me so intently, my heart began to race. "Uncle Philip . . . well, Uncle Philip never quite got over everything, especially the discovery about who he and I really were to each other. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, honey?"

I swallowed over the lump that had risen in my throat. What she was trying to tell me, I had felt and seen in so many different ways, but as a much younger girl I had not understood. Time rolled backward and memories of Uncle Philip's intense gaze at Mommy, a gaze that appeared hypnotic at times, returned. I recalled the way he always seemed to be hovering close to her, searching for and seizing upon opportunities to touch her or kiss her.

"But he loves Aunt Bet, doesn't he?" I asked. I couldn't help but be seized by fear because of these revelations.

"Yes," Mommy said reassuringly.

"But not the way you and Daddy love each other," I declared.

"No," she said, then smiled a little. "But few people do." She stood up and came around her desk to me. "Let's not dwell on these sad and troubled thoughts, honey. Aunt Fern was cruel to bring them up." We walked to the door together. "You're going to graduate from high school and go on to be a wonderful pianist. And your brother is going to become tame," she added with wide, hopeful eyes. We laughed.

"I love you, Mommy, and I never would believe anything ugly about you, no matter what Aunt Fern or anyone else says."

Mommy's face grew serious, her eyes smaller, darker.

"I'm not perfect, Christie. No one is, but I won't ever lie to you or betray you, not the way people who were supposed to love me lied to me and betrayed me. I promise." She kissed me on the cheek. "Now go check up on Jefferson for me, and enjoy the beautiful sunshine.

"I just dread receiving Jefferson's report card tomorrow," she added. "His behavior report is sure to be all in red."

"Maybe we'll all be pleasantly surprised tomorrow, Mommy," I said.