The aunt flared her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry about Sam. He’s mad and taking it out on the rejects.” She made a swiping motion, as if explaining would be a waste of time.

Steadying herself with a hand on a chair, Mom untied her sneakers and introduced her daughter and sister. Then Maggie found her right hand captured and squeezed and patted like a ball of dough.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Margaret.” Over her shoulder, Aunt Wren said, “She’s got our hair.”

“And frame.”

Aunt Wren raised the kneaded hand, as if to lengthen out Maggie and improve the view. She hummed agreement. “More hair and legs than anything.”

“But her dad’s brown eyes.”

The aunt grunted. “Him.” To Maggie, she said, “You can keep the Bambi eyes, but nothing else from that one, you hear?”

“Poor Jim. God—since high school!—you’ve had it out for poor Jim.” Mom pulled a band from her pocket and drew her hair into a ponytail. “The nicest guy and the best of fathers.”

Bor-ing, Aunt Wren silently mouthed, dragging a wry smile out of Maggie. “An accountant.” She announced this flatly, as if the profession said it all. With a final squeeze and slap on the knuckles, she released Maggie. “What’s first? Want to change into something dry? Are you tired?” She planted her hands on her narrow hips. “You’ve got bags under your eyes. A nap sound good? You can put on your pajamas. Or take a bath. Want to take a hot bath? Or eat? I made soup and bread. How about a tour? Want the ten-second grand tour? The best part’s outside, but you brought a storm with you, so that’ll have to wait.” While Maggie was deciding which question to answer first, the aunt asked, “What do you think, Minerva?” Her mouth curled at a corner. “Goddess of wisdom. Patron sponsor of the arts.” To Maggie, she said, “Minerva. Can you believe that shit? And here I’m the one with the artistic talent.”

“Jeez,” Mom moaned through a laugh. “Let’s not start that up again.”

The aunt collected the wet jackets and hung them by the door. “She got Minerva, and I got Wren—a common little brown bird.”

“With a beautiful song.”

As if Mom hadn’t spoken, the aunt said to Maggie, “You can see from the start our folks weren’t big on fairness.”

Mom’s smile wilted. She held a shoe in each hand. “That’s not true.”

“Says the favorite.”

“According to you. For heaven’s sake, it hasn’t even been a year since they passed. Have a little respect.”

“Respect would be hard.”

“They didn’t love me any more than they did you.”

“Want some evidence to prove otherwise?”

“Oh, please.”