They’re in the kitchen, though. Waiting for her. And they’re pale, ghostly even. Mr. Keller with his lips in a thin line, trying to hold something in, his eyes unreadable. Mrs. Keller with purple under-eyes, slouched in the seat like there’s no fight left in her.

Mr. Keller gets up, awkwardly, as if to offer Annie the chair. But she doesn’t move forward, keeping her feet planted at the very edge of the kitchen. “We have something we need to discuss,” he says quietly. Behind them, the sink is leaking, water drip-dropping on a lone plate a Keller must have just used. It’s the only sound in the room.

Do they know? She thinks of the cluster of women. One of them, Mrs. Loomis maybe, calling up Mrs. Keller and berating her, saying she knows, threatening to tell the school, the police.

Or maybe it was one of the quiet ones. The ones who sit and listen but don’t react as quickly, whose gasps are a little too soft. Maybe one of them picked up the phone and told Mrs. Keller what her nanny, her employee, was saying about her. That she knew it wasn’t true, but from one mother to another, it would be good for Mrs. Keller to know what Annie was spewing in the schoolyard.

Her bruises pulsate with impatience.

“Belle. Do you want to explain?” His voice cracks, so slightly that Annie would have missed it if she weren’t acutely attuned to every noise in the house at that moment. And relief floods her. Because he wouldn’t be on the edge of tears on her behalf.

“They gave me three months at this doctor’s appointment. They think maybe five if I’m lucky.” She says the last word bitterly, spitting it out on the tiled floor. “The chemo’s not working. Nothing’s working. My good old body is fighting against me. And I can’t even throw a fun end-of-life party because who the fuck do I want to see, looking like this.” She cackles, then coughs, a rusty sound like grinding machinery that leaves her bent over, holding her concave chest. This time, phlegm actually hits the floor.

“We’re going to arrange for hospice care here. In the guest bedroom by your room,” Mr. Keller says quietly. “And we wanted to meet to discuss navigating this with Suzy.” He waits a beat, and Annie knows she hasn’t reacted correctly, that she should be throwing herself down at Mrs. Keller’s feet and sobbing.

She forces her mouth into a frown, an upside-down smile, like Mr. Sad in those books she sometimes reads Suzy. “I’m so sorry. To both of you. I’ll do anything to help Suzy through this. You have my word on that.” Mr. Keller nods gravely.