“What?” Olivia blinked, having forgotten she was sitting in a senior citizens’ home painting residents’ nails. She’d been so wrapped up in the thoughts of her sister and of Spencer’s impending arrival that she’d forgotten to live in the present.

Which was a good present to be in. The residents were having a fantastic time getting dolled up for a Saturday evening. The center had even gotten into the spirit of things and decorated the dining room with white cloths and flowers. Word on the hall was the gentlemen in the establishment had chipped in and hired a guitarist to accompany dinner with music. Romance and excitement hovered in the air.

“I’m sorry. Just woolgathering, I guess,” Olivia said, running her thumbnail along the edge of Martha’s nail to remove where the polish had bled into the crevice.

“You were thinking hard,” Martha said with a smile. “I guess when you’re young, there is much to think about. When you’re my age, you sink into your memories because the future involves things you don’t want to think about.”

Olivia returned the brush to the polish bottle and twisted it closed. “I think I’m more lost in memories than I am thoughts. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Cotter’s Creek. For some reason, memories that make me both sad and disturbed have awakened. I left them alone for too long, I suppose.”

Martha patted her hand, careful not to touch anything with her nails. “I learned long ago that when you let the crow you need to eat sit too long, it’s really hard to chew.”

“It’s not really something like that. It’s something I pretended away and let get heavier and heavier. Now my past and all those emotions I refused to feel are like a piano hanging out the window on a fraying rope.”

Martha gave her a tender smile. “I know about letting things build up. Take my brother, Floyd, and his wife, Alice. I spent a long time hating them, and you know what it was over? Missing my daughter’s wedding. They had had plans to visit England, a vacation they’d been saving for years to go on. They went to England and I was furious. After that, I heaped every slight done to me onto a huge pile until it was so high I couldn’t see over it. Then Floyd died. And I never got a chance to clear the air with him. That was hard.” Martha stared off into space.

Olivia watched Martha, thinking about the things she’d left unsaid. She hadn’t said those things because . . . because she had blame in everything that had happened. And most people do what they can to avoid blame. The human condition is thus—people avoid the things that make them bleed.