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overblown roses on one side, gingham checks on the reverse. I do not look at the changing table, the neat stacks of infant diapers, the baby-wipes warmer with the cord wound around it like a dead snake, the pots of diaper rash ointment and baby lotion. I do not look at the antique carpet with the Arts and Crafts pattern, in a shade of pink that the rug dealer told me was so rare that he had never seen it before. I do not look at the glider rocker, with its cream-colored leather seat and matching footrest, special ordered by my mother as a baby present. My father gave us a $5,000 savings bond. I wonder what one does with a savings bond in the name of someone who no longer exists?
    It is only when I lick my lips and taste salt that I realize I have been crying hard enough to make my nose run. I wipe my face on my sleeve and head back to the kitchen. I must convince William not to tell his mother that I have once again proved myself to be a wicked stepmother, that I have said shut up to him, that I have let him see me cry.

Chapter 4
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         
    J
ack
was the first married man I