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“Alone,” stressed Helen. As if that fretted George: the idea that her daughter, who had just returned from a war zone, was bunking up with a man.

No, it was the shame of Ruth not coming home to her , not settling into her old bedroom—her and Ivy’s bedroom.

Of the fact that when friends said, “Oh, you must be so glad to have Ruth home. How is she?” George had to lie and say Ruth was doing as well as could be expected.

Because her daughter had refused to see her.

Until this morning. She’d called early, saying she wanted to come over and talk.

George herself wore a loose shirtdress. Nice, but not dressy—she didn’t want to look as if she made too much of the occasion of her daughter—at last—agreeing to visit her. After being in town a week.

Ruth reached the door, and if she noticed George twitch the curtains closed, her face didn’t betray it.

Would she knock? Or just come in? Either choice would send a message of some sort, a denial or acceptance of “home.” George filled a glass from the tap and gulped down half of it.

Her hand shook. The rim of the glass rattled against her teeth.

Water splashed onto her sleeve. She wore long sleeves all the time now.

She was always cold these days. And she didn’t like anyone to see how scrawny her arms had become.

Ruth turned away from the house. She appeared to be staring at the driveway.

“Honestly,” muttered George, “this is ridiculous.” She’d have to open the door, an admission that she’d been watching, which was the least of the admissions Ruth was looking for.

Well, done was done, as Adele would have said.

How have you been hurt? George thought. Really, how? Because we raised you with all the comforts we could. We gave you love and a good home (well, minus the fighting and separation), we gave you a sister, we fed you and clothed you, and ...

Deceived us, Ruth would say. Deceived us every day of our lives. Robbed us of the truth. And now it’s time to give it back.

George feared that if she waited any longer, Ruth might walk away. She opened the door and opened her arms to her daughter, hoping, praying, that Ruth would walk into them.