“You never saw him the way everybody else did.”

“Lucy, we need to talk about something else.”

I switched on a lamp and made certain the telephone was plugged in.

“You’re better off without him,” she added with conviction.

“Lucy . . “

“He wasn’t there for you the way he should have been. He never would have been there because that’s the way he was. And every time things didn’t go right, you changed.”

I stood in front of the window and looked out at dormant clematis and roses frozen to trellises.

“Lacy, you need to learn a little gentleness and tact. You can’t just say exactly what you think.”

“That’s a funny thing to hear coming from you. You’ve always told me how much you hate dishonesty and games.”

“People have feelings.”

“You’re right. Including me,” she said.

“Have I somehow hurt your feelings?”

“How do you think I felt?”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Because you didn’t think about me at all. That’s why you don’t understand.”

“I think about you all the time.”

“That’s like saying you’re rich and yet you never give me a dime. What difference does it make to me what you’ve got hidden away?”

I did not know what to say.

“You don’t call me anymore. You haven’t come to see me once since he got killed.”

The hurt in her voice had been saved for a long time. “I wrote you and you didn’t write back. Then you called me yesterday and asked me to come visit because you needed something.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s the same thing Mom does.”

I shut my eyes and lead my forehead against the cold glass. “You expect too much from me, Lucy. I’m not perfect.”

“I don’t expect you to be perfect. But I thought you were different.”

“I don’t know how to defend myself when you make a remark like that.”

“You can’t defend yourself!”

I watched a gray squirrel hop along the top of the fence bordering the yard. Birds were pecking seeds off the grass.

“Aunt Kay?”

I turned to her and never had I seen her eyes look so dejected.

“Why are men always mode important than me?”

“They’re not, Lucy,” I whispered. “I swear.”

My niece wanted tuna salad and cap latte for lunch, and while I sat in front of the fire editing a journal article, she rummaged through my closet and dresser drawers. I tried not to think about another human being touching my clothes, folding something in a way I wouldn’t or returning a jacket to the wrong hanger. Lucy had a gift for making me feel like the Tinman rusting in the forest. Was I becoming the rigid, serious adult I would have disliked when I was her age?

“What do you think?” she asked when she emerged from my bedroom at half past one. She was wearing one of my tennis warm-up suits.

“I think you spent a long time to come up with only that. And yes, it fits you fine.”