A high-pitched note sounded. From Mom. A laugh like the peal of a siren. “Harrowing … for me. Harrowing for me?” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Oh, Wren, Wren…” She moaned and wavered. “I’m so—so sorr—” Her eyes rolled back. Her knees buckled. The photographs swooped to the floor again.

Wren and Maggie yelped, lunged, and caught her. And cracked their heads together in the process.

26

MAGGIE RUBBED THE bump on her head and looked up from her menu.

Linnie and her half sister had the same eyes, in shape if not shade. But Danielle Pinsky was darker than Linnie, her skin olive-toned. She was taller, too, and disconcertingly direct. Danielle didn’t look at the menu. She didn’t glance at the Genesee River, gray and rushing outside the window by their table. Maggie guessed she also wasn’t paying much attention to her or the smoky sweetness wafting through the restaurant or the gleaming wooden floors. She was entirely and warmly focused on Linnie.

And Linnie was smiling back. She looked dazed.

Since their initial handshake, Danielle had made no effort to mask her delight with Linnie. Enchanted was not too strong a word.

Linnie and Danielle. Mom and Wren. It was turning out to be a good day for sisters. An emotional day. A hard one. But good. Maggie was glad to be out with Linnie. Her mother and aunt needed time alone. They’d have the next couple of days as well. Maggie had agreed to drive to Carlton in the morning and cover Monday’s library book club discussion in Mom’s place.

Danielle closed the menu. “We have the same laugh. There’s something similar in how we laugh, don’t you think? The suddenness of it.” She glanced distractedly at the waitress who’d appeared to take their order. After Maggie requested her pulled barbecue chicken sandwich and fries, and Linnie said absently, “I suppose I’ll have that, too,” her sister said quickly, “Make that three, please,” and then leaned forward. “Enough about me. Tell me more about you.”

Linnie’s clasped hands came up to her chin. “Well … hmm.” She peeked at Maggie. So far, Linnie had peppered her sister with questions. She was genuinely curious about Danielle—Maggie didn’t doubt that for a second. But she also was clearly reluctant to talk about her own life.

Maggie nodded encouragingly, but Linnie still seemed at a loss for words. Finally, Maggie blurted, “Linnie’s one of the smartest people I know.”

Linnie gave her a grateful smile.

“I can tell,” Danielle said, her expression admiring. “You even look smart.”

Linnie laughed.

“There’s my laugh again.” She took hold of the edge of the table. “What do you like to do, Linnie?”

“Read.”

“You too?”

Maggie smiled. More than one reader at the same table. Inconceivable.

“What kinds of things?”

“Pretty much everything, but poetry’s my favorite. Right now, I’m into Mary Ruefle and Anne Carson.”