It was a good thing I had that thought—Aunt Sweetie would have been proud—because that was where I ended up, right back at Mrs. Haslam’s. A paying job was a paying job. I knew Mrs. Haslam’s ways, and she knew mine. I’d heard that she had a string of gals working for her since I’d left and that her cook was about to leave because she was in the family way, unmarried, and can’t hide her condition for much longer. When I took over Mrs. Haslam’s kitchen again, it was as if I’d never left. I was glad to be paid to cook again.

After Mr. Watkin left that night, I asked Bill to write a letter to Pat for me. There were things that I couldn’t say to my husband in front of the boy, so I kept those to myself.

Dear Pat, the letter began, I’m sending you five dollars. I wish that I’d more. I hope you will get well. I hope you still have your hat. Cincinnati isn’t the same without you, nor is Mrs. Haslam’s. You can write to me there from now on. Miss Caroline isn’t in good health, and she went back to Boston. She left me all of her snowflakes—

Yes, it’s true, Miss.

Why would I make up a story about that? Between you and me, I’m wearing two of the snowflakes right now.