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stars of the Big Dipper, which her father had once told her was the saucepan of God. As her father had once taught her to do, Rose followed the line of the star called Merak to the star called Dubhe and found Polaris, the North Star, who was just beginning to open his sleepy eye for her in the endless sky. She knew the names of so many stars, and the ones she didn’t she had named herself, after people she had lost long ago.
    How strange, she thought, that she couldn’t hold on to the simplest of facts, but the celestial names were written on her memory forever. She’d studied them secretly over so many years, hoping that one day they might provide a pathway home. But she was still here on earth, wasn’t she? And the stars were just as far away as ever.
    “Mamie?” Hope asked after a while, breaking the silence.
    Rose turned to her and smiled at the word. She remembered her own mamie fondly, a woman who had always seemed so glamorous to her, a woman whose trademarks were red lipstick, high cheekbones, and a smart, dark bob that had gone out of style in the 1920s. But then she remembered what had happened to her own mamie, and the smile faded. She blinked a few times and returned to the present. “Yes, dear?” Rose asked.
    “Who is Leona?”
    The words stole Rose’s breath for a moment, for it was a name she hadn’t spoken in nearly seventy years. Why would she? She did not believe in resurrecting ghosts.
    “No one,” Rose finally replied. But that was, of course, a lie. Leona was someone. They all were. By denying them once again,she knew she was weaving the tapestry of deceit a little tighter. She wondered whether one day it would be tight enough to suffocate her.
    “But Annie says you’ve been calling her Leona,” Hope persisted.
    “No, she is wrong,” Rose told her instantly. “There is no Leona.”
    “But—”
    “How is Annie?” Rose asked, changing the subject. Annie, she could remember clearly. Annie was the third generation of American in her family. First Josephine. Then Hope. Now the little one, Annie, the dawn to Rose’s twilight. Rose was proud of very few things in her life. But this, this she was proud of.
    “She’s fine,” Hope replied, but Rose noticed that the line of Hope’s mouth was set a bit unnaturally. “She’s been spending a lot of time with her dad lately. They spent the whole summer going to Cape League games.”
    Rose searched her memory. “What sort of league?”
    “Baseball. Summer league. Like the games Grandpa used to take me to when I was a kid.”
    “Well, that sounds nice, dear,” Rose said. “Do you go with them?”
    “No, Mamie,” Hope said gently. “Annie’s father and I are divorced.”
    “Of course,” Rose murmured. She studied Hope’s face when the girl looked down, and she could see in her features the same kind of sadness she saw every time she looked at herself in the mirror. What was she so sad about? “Do you still love him?” she ventured.
    Hope looked up sharply, and Rose felt terrible when she realized that it probably was the wrong thing to have asked. She forgot, sometimes, what was polite and what was not.
    “No,” Hope murmured finally. She didn’t meet Rose’s eye as she added, “I don’t think I ever did. That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it? I think there’s something wrong with me.”
    Rose felt a lump in her throat. So then, the burden had been passed to Hope too. She knew that now. Her own closed heart hadrepercussions that she had never imagined. She was responsible for all of it. But how could she tell Hope that love did exist, that it had the power to change everything? She couldn’t. So instead, she cleared her throat and tried to focus on the present.
    “There is nothing wrong with you, dear,” she told her granddaughter.
    Hope glanced at her grandmother and looked away. “But what if there is?” she asked softly.
    “You must not blame yourself,” Rose said. “Some things are simply not meant to