You’ve always valued your career goals and your independence, issues that would be strongly curtailed by the rigors of parenting. Given your full-time employment, Kinsey would, of necessity, be relegated to day care, which we can’t help but think would be disastrous in light of her losses . . .

I set the rest aside and turned to the small bundle of letters addressed to me.

Dearest One,

How are you today? I bet you can’t guess who sent you this letter. I don’t believe you know how to read yet, so I’m hoping your Aunt Virginia will do me the incredible honor of making my thoughts known to you.

I hope you haven’t forgotten your Grandfather Kinsey and me. We love you so very very much. You may not remember, but the last time I saw you, you were three years old and we took you to the circus. You had a wonderful time watching the clowns and the trained animals. I promised you another visit and now I’m hoping your Aunt Virginia will make this possible.

You might wonder what you would do in this big house of ours. We’ve set aside a special bedroom for you with lots of toys and books. We can paint it any color you like. Pink or blue or yellow. Which do you prefer? We have an orchard with some trees that grow big red apples and some that grow oranges. In front of the house, there’s a big oak with a tire swing, and there are grassy fields where you can run to your heart’s content. And guess what else? We have two Shetland ponies and a nanny goat named Joan, who might have babies soon. A baby goat is called a kid. Have you ever seen one? Your cousins are begging you to come so you can all bake cookies in our big kitchen. If you tell us your favorite kind, you can have a dozen and one! I was going to keep this a secret, but I can’t resist . . . we have a new puppy! His name is Skippy and he says “woof, woof,” which means please come to see us.

The rest of Grand’s letters to me were the same saccharine and simple-hearted tomes, addressed to an imaginary child, as she knew nothing about me. I could hardly fault her for that. It had been years since her mothering had been called upon. She might have done a bang-up job raising five daughters when the role was hers. Here she was, working to insinuate herself into my life while Aunt Gin blocked her every move.