Kat nods.

“Can you tell her good-bye, love?” I say, inwardly begging the child to please, please say the word.

“Good-bye,” Kat murmurs.

Mrs. Lewis smiles, perhaps a bit reassured by hearing Kat speak. She rises to her full height and then turns to me. “If you ever need anything, come to me.”

“Certainly,” I say, as politely as I can; then I escort Mrs. Lewis back to the door and open it. “Thank you again for coming, Mrs. Lewis.”

Mrs. Lewis says good-bye and I shut the door. Kat has a bevy of new hair ribbons, so it is easy, as I make my way back to the patio and my daughter, to toss Mrs. Lewis’s package into the bin.

• • •

Libby and Timmy come for lunch the following afternoon. Kat and I made little sandwiches with the crusts removed and a tray of relishes and an aspic and a lemon chiffon cake. The day is sunny and the patio is pleasant and Kat and Timmy draw pictures on the patio stones with chalk after they’ve eaten.

Everything about the afternoon seems perfect. But I sense that Libby sees me not as her new neighbor but as someone who needs care and attending—a woman of misfortune who was so desperate to escape her lot, she married a man she didn’t know. I am someone Libby should look after from time to time as is befitting a woman of Christian character. The lunch invitation was accepted because that was the charitable thing to do.

As they are leaving, I remind Libby that I am happy to mind little Timmy if she has obligations to attend. Libby thanks me sweetly for the offer and for the delicious lunch.

I tell her it has been such a pleasure having her and Timmy over.

“Let’s do it again sometime very soon!” Libby says with her son in her arms and a benevolent smile on her face.

“Yes.” I plaster the same smile on my own face.

I wait until Libby and her child are halfway across the street before I shut the door. I look down at Kat, standing next to me.

“Did you have fun today?”

Kat nods unconvincingly.

“Right. Me, too, love. Let’s clean up.”

As we put away the luncheon things, I decide I don’t need Libby’s friendship if every time we get together she will make me feel as if I am a charity case. I will find a new friend somehow. Maybe at an Anglican church, if I can find one, or maybe one of the other mothers I see in the park. And I won’t tell anyone else ever again about how I met Martin. If people assume Kat is my own flesh and blood, I won’t set them straight. If people ask why Kat doesn’t speak, I’ll tell them she’s merely a quiet soul.

I am not a charity case.

I am not a woman of misfortune who married a man I didn’t know.