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"It won't be for you," he said. "Give yourself a chance." He nodded toward the painting I had done of the tree. "That is a remarkable piece of work for someone as young and as untrained as you are. Grandpa is right: you're going to do something with your art."

He left the door open and descended. I looked at the window again. Using my memory from the pictures, I imagined my mother standing there and listening to my father and my aunt reveal that they had determined she had fabricated the whole story and therefore had done a terrible, terrible thing The two people she had trusted and depended upon were casting her out to sea in a small boat. She would soon be at the mercy of whatever winds occurred, tossed and thrown every which way, and no one would be there to rescue her, not even her own mother. No wonder she had wandered off in a daze.

I had never met my mother, but I could cry for her, because in my mind and heart, I was crying for myself.

I rose and walked out of the attic, closing the door softly behind me. I could hear the twins below. They had wakened and were running through the house, playing some sort of hide-and-seek game with my grandfather. I quickly realized my father and Rachel were in their bedroom with the door closed. Was he already paying the price for being my father for fifteen minutes?

When he came out, I saw that the tips of his ears were crimson. Whatever had been said in privacy had stung him. It was easy to envision Rachel as a bee or a hornet. There was a sharpness to her every move and gesture, a biting precision to her words. I went right to work to help my grandmother with the evening meal and avoided Rachel for as long as I could.

It wasn't the most pleasant dinner we had with all of us. Nothing the twins did at the table pleased Rachel, and soon it felt as if we were all on edge. My father's eyes were full of apologies. I saw how unhappy my grandfather was becoming, too. I was glad when we were finished with our dessert and I could help my grandmother in the kitchen and get away for a while. While I was helping her, I realized just how well planned the conspiracy was. She surprised me with her new offer.

"How would you like to do a little shopping with Rachel, Zipporah and me tomorrow? Zipporah should be here by late morning. We thought we'd all go to lunch and hit some of the department stores."

"What sort of shopping?"

"You need some new clothes, Alice."

"Rachel wants to go, too?"

"Yes. You see how fashionable Rachel is. She keeps up on it all better than either Zipporah or I do. Your grandfather and Jesse are taking the twins to the fun park. Okay?"

I shrugged.

"I don't care," I said.

"You'll feel better about yourself when you have new things, Alice. I know I do. Sometimes, nice clothing gives us more self-confidence."

"Changing clothes isn't going to win me new friends, Grandma," I said.

She slapped the kitchen counter so hard, I was sure she hurt her hand.

"Do you have to always be so negative, Alice? Do you have to bite every hand that tries to feed you?"

I didn't respond, but I felt the tears burning under my eyelids.

She turned to me.

"We're all going to enjoy ourselves," she said firmly, "whether we like it or not."

I nearly smiled

"Okay, Grandma," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Good. I'll finish here. Go spend some time with the twins," she told me.

They were lying against and over Grandpa Michael in the den and watching television as if he was a big human pillow. The moment they saw me, however, they practically leaped up to play the mechanical bowling game my grandfather had in his den.

"Thank God! Reinforcements," my grandfather cried.

I didn't mind spending time with the twins. Despite Rachel's continually complaining about their behavior, I found them to be very intelligent and very perceptive. Of course, I wondered what, if anything, we shared because we shared a father. Their outgoing, buoyant-personalities were so different from mine. Someday, I thought, they would learn I was not their aunt; I was their half sister. How would they react, feel? Would that make them think of me as weird? Would they then not want to have much to do with me? The lines that tied me to family were so fragile that I was sure it wouldn't take much to shatter them.

That night I went to sleep thinking about all the things my father had finally told me. I wondered if this meant that other doors would open, that Aunt Zipporah would be more forthcoming as well. Of everyone, she had been the least reluctant to talk about my mother, but I always felt she held back things nevertheless. Maybe, just maybe, they had all discussed me and had decided I was now old enough to know whatever they knew. Once again, I felt this wasn't just another family gathering. This was the beginning of some new day, and I couldn't wait to see what exactly it would bring and what it would change inside me.

Fortunately, Aunt Zipporah arrived even before the day had begun, so I didn't have to contend with the heaviness from the night before. By the time I descended to have breakfast, she was in the kitchen with my grandmother, stringing one story after another, summarizing everything that had happened at the cafe. I couldn't help but be jealous of their relationship. Even with my small experience concerning other mothers and daughters, I could see and understand that Aunt Zipporah and my grandmother had a special connection. In fact, they seemed more like sisters at times, laughing and talking, sharing their experiences as if they were contemporaries. Sometimes, I enjoyed just sitting on the sidelines and listening to them talk, imagining what it would have been like for me if I had been brought up by my mother. Would my relationship with her have been this special?

"Alice!" Aunt Zipporah cried as soon as she saw me. She rushed to hug and kiss me. No one greeted me with as much warmth and happiness. There was nothing insincere about that greeting, either. I often wondered if that was because she saw so much of my mother in me and had been so fond of her.

She took me by the hand and pulled me to sit beside her at the kitchen table.