She dreams about the new life she’s building for herself. She tells Suzy about all they will do together as a little family, the blueberry pancakes with sweetened condensed milk they will make. The little house they will live in by the water with its carved wooden door frames and squeaky floorboards, salt from the air sprinkling their skin. Annie decides on a bumblebee yellow for Suzy’s room. Cheerful, somewhat mellow. She points to it on the paint chip she brought back from the hardware store and asks Suzy if she likes it. She nods enthusiastically, spilling her apple juice on the laminated card.

Annie goes through the few items of Mrs. Keller’s that Nance has left. Why should it all go to waste just because she’s dead? Annie particularly likes the lingerie sets, the flimsy leopard-print underwear and matching underwire bras. But they’re not her size. Her stomach pinches against the elastic. The bra cups are tight around her breasts. But she puts them on anyway, dances in them, bleeds in them during her time of the month.

She picks a day to leave. It will be a weekend when Mr. Keller is out of town. They will drive until they reach the coast, settle somewhere near the Pacific. Everything is in place.

One night, after Mr. Keller has finished reading a bedtime story to Suzy, Annie sneaks into Suzy’s room. Suzy is almost asleep, her lids heavy, drool slipping out from her plump lips. Annie rests a hand on her head. “Are you excited to go, baby?” she asks, smoothing the creased pillow with her other hand.

Suzy’s eyes flutter open, rolling back a little as she nods her head yes. “’Cited,” she murmurs before closing her eyes again, tucking her hand under her chin and turning over, falling into a deeper sleep.

“Me, too, baby. Me, too,” Annie answers, mostly to herself.

Sometimes, Annie thinks back to the day when her destiny fell into place in March, more than a year ago. She was on Main Street, leaving the grocery store, when she spotted her. That blond little head, eyes unblinking. The same seraphic face she’d dreamed about three years before. She felt the tug in her abdomen, the pull of the tether that had kept their souls together. She wanted to run after her, her child, fully formed and exactly the age she should be. Smell her hair, count the toes on her feet, make sure every tiny part was accounted for.

And then her reverie was broken. Claudette, the housekeeper whose children she babysat on occasion, was about to enter the store. “Beautiful family, right? I just started cleaning for them. They’re generous tippers,” Claudette said, watching Annie watch as her baby got in a car, about to be spirited away yet again. “You know, they’re looking for a nanny. I could send your name their way.” And Annie’s future was set.