But now I can see that it was Annie who was also precocious, strong-willed. She could be defiant to her sister when I left her in charge. And she resented her brother. She resented them both, how they pulled her, kicking and screaming, from her pedestal as the baby, wanting her to grow up and be less of a bother. She had managed to become our sole focus. Our squeaky wheel. Babies always need more attention.

The memories keep crossing the line, and the pain they carry lessens each time. Even now, as I speak to Alice about helping her cook, I see Nicole standing on a stool, staring into a bowl of flour and sugar, mixing them together with a big wooden spoon that can barely fit in her hand.

She liked blueberry muffins and we would make them together. I still know the recipe by heart. It never leaves me. Two cups of flour. One cup of sugar . . .

And John, the memories of John . . . they reach back and unearth feelings that live more in my body than my mind. His hand on the small of my back. The rush that would follow. I thought they were gone forever.

It doesn’t change what I did. I do not feel it should commute my sentence. To the contrary. I see now that this sentence, being forced to live here with this man and his child, has scratched an itch. The guilt recedes a little every day. The rock I carry gets lighter.

I suffer now to keep Nicole safe. And possibly Evan. This man could know about him. Maybe he covets him as well. In the suffering, I make amends. And the amends bring some kind of healing.

“Alice,” I say with a smile. “I know that face! What are you thinking?”

Alice looks up at the monitor in the corner at the end of the hallway. She positions herself so her back faces it. She lowers her voice as well, for good measure, I imagine.

“I know where the key is,” she says.

Her words reach out and choke me with surprise. But I manage a little smile, the smile of only a tepid curiosity.

“You do?” I ask.

She nods slowly, Coy Face firmly lodged.

“In case I really, really need you,” she says.

I sit back a little and uncross my legs. They have started to tingle.

It’s not easy to sit on the floor all day at my age.

I consider my options now. I could start to cry. Say how hungry I am and how much I need her to help me. But she does not seem to be wanting that. She already saved me once with a glass of lemonade. Her daily fix has been had.

She craves other things, though, as I have come to learn.

Hannah gave it away one day when she was talking to Suzannah.