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She masked it by coating her stomach with liquid antacids, by downing the pills that had been prescribed for her occasional blinding headaches. But most of all, she masked it by using her will to ignore.
    Twice she had nearly walked down the hall to her mother’s room. A third time she had gotten as far as her mother’s door, with her hand raised to knock, before she had retreated to her own room and her own thoughts.
    She had no right to resent the fact that her mother had a relationship with another man. Yet she did. In all the years Vanessa had spent with her father, he had never turned to another woman. Or, if he had, he had been much too discreet for her to notice.
    And what did it matter? she asked herself as she dressed the next morning. They had always lived their own lives, separate, despite the fact that they shared a house.

    But it did matter. It mattered that her mother had been content all these years to live in this same house without contact with her only child. It mattered that she had been able to start a life, a new life, that had no place for her own daughter.
    It was time, Vanessa told herself. It was time to ask why.
    She caught the scent of coffee and fragrant bread as she reached the bottom landing. In the kitchen she saw her mother standing by the sink, rinsing a cup. Loretta was dressed in a pretty blue suit, pearls at her ears and around her throat. The radio was on low, and she was humming even as she turned and saw her daughter.
    “Oh, you’re up.” Loretta smiled, hoping it didn’t look forced. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you this morning before I left.”
    “Left?”
    “I have to go to work. There’re some muffins, and the coffee’s still hot.”
    “To work?” Vanessa repeated. “Where?”
    “At the shop.” To busy her nervous hands, she poured Vanessa a cup of coffee. “The antique shop. I bought it about six years ago. The Hopkinses’ place, you might remember. I went to work for them when—some time ago. When they decided to retire, I bought them out.”
    Vanessa shook her head to clear it of the grogginess. “You run an antique shop?”
    “Just a small one.” She set the coffee on the table. The moment they were free, her hands began to tug at her pearl necklace. “I call it Loretta’s Attic. Silly, I suppose, but it does nicely. I closed it for a couple of days, but… I can keep it closed another day or so if you’d like.”
    Vanessa studied her mother thoughtfully, trying to imagine her owning a business, worrying about inventory and book-keeping. Antiques? Had she ever mentioned an interest in them?

    “No.” It seemed that talk would have to wait. “Go ahead.”
    “If you like, you can run down later and take a look.” Loretta began to fiddle with a button on her jacket. “It’s small, but I have a lot of interesting pieces.”
    “We’ll see.”
    “Are you sure you’ll be all right here alone?”
    “I’ve been all right alone for a long time.”
    Loretta’s gaze dropped. Her hands fell to her sides. “Yes, of course you have. I’m usually home by six-thirty.”
    “All right. I’ll see you this evening, then.” She walked to the sink to turn on the faucet. She wanted water, cold and clear.
    “Van.”
    “Yes?”
    “I know I have years to make up for.” Loretta was standing in the doorway when Vanessa turned. “I hope you’ll give me a chance.”
    “I want to.” She spread her hands. “I don’t know where either of us is supposed to start.”
    “Neither do I.” Loretta’s smile was hesitant, but less strained. “Maybe that’s its own start. I love you. I’ll be happy if I can make you believe that.” She turned quickly and left.
    “Oh, Mom,” Vanessa said to the empty house. “I don’t know what to do.”
     
    “Mrs. Driscoll.” Brady patted the eighty-three-year-old matron on her knobby knee. “You’ve got the heart of a twenty-year-old gymnast.”
    She cackled, as he’d known she would. “It’s not my heart I’m