In the driveway, I unbuckled her in slow motion, easing her out of her car seat with the most careful possible movements, leaving the passenger door open as I hoisted her over my shoulder. Maxine walked out onto the porch looking coolly put together, strands of blonde hair swept off her forehead with a small tortoiseshell clip—the kind of careful details I couldn’t be bothered with anymore. “Hey,” she said, her voice full of sympathy, the way you greet someone who has an illness in the family. I walked past her and lay Sarah down on the daybed by a wide, sunny window. She emitted the tiniest hiccup of a waking breath, eyelids fluttering, then sighed back to sleep. I went outside to shut the car door, then came back. The expensive hush of Maxine’s remodeled saltbox felt like a bubble of unexpected calm. Maxine had won the house in a settlement from her second husband; it had vaulted ceilings and spectacular water views of Alden Lake.
What do You think about The Last September: A Novel?
