“I don’t know, Sweetie. That’s why I asked. I get the impression there’s more here than meets the eye. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Kathy couldn’t figure out what her mother was getting at. “Not really.”

“Kathykins, I don’t want us keeping secrets. That’s not what a mother and daughter do when they want to feel close.”

Her mother hadn’t called her “Kathykins” since she started her menstrual periods a year and a half ago. Her mother had already bought supplies-a box of sanitary napkins and this strappy elastic-belt thing you had to wear around your waist to hold the pad in place. Demonstrating how to stick the long, gauzy part of the pad in the fastener, she’d had the same worrisome look on her face, like maybe Kathy was suddenly vulnerable in ways she couldn’t bear to explain. Her mother went on in that same loving tone. “I know you’re withholding something. Can you tell me what it is?”

“I’m not withholding anything.” She broke the remainder of the brownie in two and put half in her mouth.

“You know I’ll always love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

Kathy looked up with astonishment. “Muuther, I didn’t do anything! How can you think such a thing when I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Then what? I want you to be absolutely honest. Whatever you tell me will never leave this room.”

Kathy was silent, staring at the floor. She didn’t exactly have a secret but she did have something that seriously concerned her. She knew her mother would have good advice, but she wasn’t really sure she could trust her with this. “You’ll tell Dad.”

“No, I won’t. As long as it doesn’t have anything to do with your health or safety. Short, of that, this is just between us.”

“It’s not about me.”

“Then who? Liza? Did she say something ugly about your weight?”

“No-oo.” Two syllables. Something ugly about her weight? What ugly thing could her mother possibly have in mind? She was the one who talked about inner beauty.

“But it has to do with her?”

“Sort of.”

“Has her mother’s drinking gotten worse?”

Kathy shook her head, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Oh? And why would that be?”

Kathy had vowed to herself she’d never utter a word of it. Once she figured out how to get Liza to confess, she pictured the two of them in long, heartfelt conversations, sitting up half the night the way they’d done in the past. They’d roll their hair in bobby pins and smear Noxzema on their faces so they wouldn’t get zits. Gently, she’d help Liza see the error of her ways and guide her to safer ground.