When Amelia Albright was two years old, her mother died of cancer. She didn’t remember her mother at all. The only life she knew was her life with her melancholy father and Mrs. O’Brien.

2 • Mrs. O’Brien

Mrs. O’Brien moved around the kitchen like a leaf in the wind. With a quick bouncing step, she went from the cupboard to the refrigerator to the counter to the table. She served Amelia a homemade bran muffin, a bowl of strawberries, and a glass of chocolate milk.

“What will the day hold for you?” asked Mrs. O’Brien.

“Well, I won’t be getting a suntan on the beach,” said Amelia.

“I know,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “I know.” She kissed the air above Amelia’s head. “Poor thing.”

Amelia ate without speaking. She picked apart the warm muffin with her fingers, then ate the pieces with a fork. No surprise: the muffin was delicious, but Amelia kept her compliments to herself. Nothing against Mrs. O’Brien. Amelia’s mood was to blame for her silence.

Mrs. O’Brien was busy at the sink with her back to Amelia. She was an expert at gauging Amelia’s frame of mind. She knew when to probe and when to leave her alone.

As usual, Mrs. O’Brien was wearing what Amelia thought of as her uniform: tan sweatpants, puffy white shoes that reminded Amelia of marshmallows, a baggy short-sleeved men’s polo shirt in a pastel color, and her pearl necklace. Her hair was the shape and color of a mushroom cap.

Mrs. O’Brien seemed ageless. She looked the same as she did when she first came to cook and clean ten years ago. It was an interesting arrangement. Mrs. O’Brien lived across the street, but she was at the Albrights’ every day. As reliable as the sun, she arrived before Amelia got up in the morning. And she didn’t leave until Amelia had gone to bed at night.

“Where’s the Professor?” Amelia asked suddenly.

Mrs. O’Brien turned from the sink toward Amelia. Sunlight caught the side of her face, making her look ethereal. “Your father’s at his office on campus. He left early.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “It figures,” she said. “Who else would be working during break? And, it’s Saturday.”

“Now, now.”

“I mean, it would be one thing if he were curing some disease or ending world hunger. But he’s probably just sitting at his messy desk in his dark office reading Jane Austen or The Canterbury Tales for the five hundredth time. For fun!” she added bitterly.

Mrs. O’Brien laughed. She approached Amelia and touched her lightly on her arm, gave a gentle squeeze. She left her hand there for an extra moment as if to absorb all bad feelings. “I do wish Natalie were home.”

“Me, too.”

Natalie Vandermeer was Amelia’s best friend. She was gone for the whole school year. The Vandermeers were living in France and wouldn’t be back until August. Amelia missed Natalie terribly. At first they stayed in touch regularly with postcards and letters sent back and forth. But as the weeks and months passed, their communication was less and less frequent. She hoped they were still best friends.