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under the overpass, but said nothing.
    “Perhaps,” Ms. Jeffery said, scanning the dark living room, “we could sit at the kitchen table.”
    Gladys walked into the kitchen, repositioned her chair so that it no longer faced the TV, and sat down. Constable Hill, Ms. Jeffery, and Mel followed. Gladys then got up, went back into the living room, and came back with a foldout chair.
    “First time in nine years she bothers to come by,” Gladys said as though defending her position.
    Ms. Jeffery and Constable Hill nodded as Gladys spoke, but neither of them interrupted.
    “Tux, my husband … her grandfather,” Gladys said, tossing a glance in Mel’s direction, “looked night and day. Cecily didn’t have the decency to say where she was going; she just got up and left. And after all we’d done for her. And I can see, by what’s gone on with Cecily in the past few days, that she hasn’t learned a thing in the nine years she’s been gone.” This last statement Gladys spoke slowly, as though what she was saying was surely proving a point.
    Mel wanted to defend Cecily. She wanted to say, “We were starting over; we were coming home – but you wouldn’t open the door.” But the words hid inside her.She knew better than to say anything: it was obvious that Cecily was already in enough trouble.
    Mel asked to use the bathroom, not because she needed to but because she wanted to get up from the table. Gladys motioned her head in the direction of the bathroom door. Mel stood and then set her clothes on her chair. It was uncomfortable being with the three adults all tiptoeing around whatever it was they needed to talk about.
    When Mel opened the bathroom door, one thing was clear. Cecily was right: the bathroom was the nicest part of the apartment. The floors and walls were tiled with small white tiles. Just inside the door, a large, square, white porcelain sink sat on a rectangular pedestal. Beside it, a towel was neatly folded over a glass rod. Above the sink, clipped to the wall with silver clasps, hung a tall mirror, and Mel let her fingers run along the scalloped edges. Her eyes moved from the mirror to an ornate black radiator that was tucked into the corner, but it was nothing in comparison to the stand-alone cast iron bathtub that sat kitty-corner to it. The claw feet, which looked like bird talons grasping spheres, were definitely the most unique part of the tub. The bathtub’s only flaw was a dripping faucet that left an orangey stain all the way from the tap to the drain. It had been more than a week, Mel realized, since she’d had a shower or bath.
    As she turned toward the door, Mel noticed four thin lines on the lower half of the door frame; they appeared to be nothing more than little scratches in the white paint. She looked closer. They were actually words.
Melody 12 months
. She let her fingertips slide up the frame –
18 months
, then
24 months
, and then to a last mark,
36 months
. Her first, second, and third birthdays. She had stood here to be measured. Mel let her fingers run up the door frame, stopping at just above eye level. Without any thought, she turned, pressed her back to the frame, rested her palm on the top of her head, and then turned back to face her fingertips, which marked her height today – and the distance between then and now. She turned back, facing out from the frame to the room, to the tub, to the tiles. Nothing jarred her memory.
    As she opened the door from the bathroom to the kitchen, all three adults looked in her direction. She couldn’t help but feel guilty for having let herself explore the bathroom.
    Ms. Jeffery and Constable Hill got up to leave. They each shook Gladys’s hand and said good-bye to Mel. Ms. Jeffery mentioned that she would pick them up in the morning, to take them to court.
    Gladys followed Ms. Jeffery and Constable Hill back into the living room. After they left, she locked the door.Mel sat back down at the table, returning the small pile of clothes