What else might Laura say that would bring up, so viscerally, the memory of my own mom?

THE PAJAMAS SHE’D left on the bed for me were made from dove-gray cotton so smooth it almost felt like silk, with lacy white ribbon sewn around the neckline and sleeves. The buttons were white with small flowers carved on them. Guaranteed, these pajamas cost more than the rest of my clothes put together.

In the bathroom, draped artfully on the small counter next to the sink, were a fluffy white towel and washcloth. And on the shelf in the shower was a neat row of brand-new bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, all with the same fancy floral labels as the ones in Agatha’s bathroom. I opened one and sniffed it. The fragrance was as far from my style as you could get—the heavy, perfumed smell of roses and jasmine—but I would never tell Laura I didn’t like them. I’d just go around smelling like an old lady for the foreseeable future.

I’d forgotten how nice it was to take a shower with plenty of hot water and no one banging on the door shouting that your time was almost up. I stood with my eyes closed, enjoying the excellent water pressure and the solitude and the admittedly first-rate lather of Laura’s bath products. The fragrance was already growing on me.

Finally, not wanting to give the impression that I was wasteful, I turned off the water and climbed out, wrapping myself in the fluffy towel and puttering over to the sink. A fancy new hairbrush was on the counter, along with the toothbrush Laura had given me—a fancy electric one, brand-new in its box. And a tube of organic cinnamon-flavored toothpaste.

I hung the towel on the bar, changed into the pajamas, and brushed my hair and teeth. By the time I finished, I felt warm, relaxed, and sleepily optimistic in spite of Agatha’s rejection. There was more to life here than Agatha.

I opened the door that led back to the nursery. The ceiling lights were off; just a single dim lamp was lit in the far corner. Laura was perched on the side of Agatha’s bed, reading to her from a small book she held in her hands. Her voice was low and steady, like the drone of a prayer.

“—be banished from this realm. And may virtue stand as a wall before you and leave you cast into the dark night, apart from innocent souls and the homes of righteous men—”

Suddenly she froze and half turned toward me. The curves of her face were outlined by the warm lamplight, but I could see a bright, surprised look in her eyes.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I stammered.