I finally recognized it: a woman weeping.Sobbing. And it was coming from Marie-Therèse’s room.I remembered what Peter had said about her having to leave the house on her birthday. She probably knows, I thought. It was a terrible thing to be kicked out of your home for no reason other than the fact that you got old. What kind of stupid rule was that, anyway?I closed the book and went to her room. “Marie-Therèse?” I called, knocking on the door. “It’s Katy. Can I come in?”There was a brief scuffling before she appeared in a brocade dressing gown, a lace-edged handkerchief held to her nose. “Please,” she said, gesturing for me to enter. Marie-Therèse still spoke English to me, even though no one else besides Peter did.“Are you all right?” I asked.“It’s just a sniffle,” she said, turning away from me. “Probably the weather . . .”“Is it about your birthday?” I asked timidly.She sank down onto her bed, her shoulders slumped and trembling. “After all this time . . .
