Ann’s voice on the telephone the next morning had a tinge of asperity. “You know we want to help in any way we can.”“Dear Ann, the cake was wonderful. Aunt Minna ate three pieces.” Laura knew she couldn’t leave it at that. “Mrs. O’Brien really wants to walk Grindle, and I can understand that she needs to get out of the house.”“Oh, yes, I see.” But it was clear that Ann did not see. “So Aunt Minna was there?” (Aunt Minna was allowed in and I was not, was clearly what was meant.)But how could Laura explain, possibly, to this dear, young, vulnerable daughter-in-law, that Aunt Minna was welcome partly at least because she was so old, and with her Laura could be a little child being read to. More, that Aunt Minna could be considered an intimate in a way none of Laura’s children was. How to explain anything at all, for that matter?“I’m not going to try to explain everything I do, Ann. I’m feeling my way. Aunt Minna will come every other day for a while and read aloud to me.
