"What time?"

"Grandma usually sleeps until eight."

"I'll be here at seven forty-five. If we have to zip her up in a body bag to sneak her out, we'll do it."

Annie gave a broken laugh. "She'd be game for that, I'm sure. It would suit her sense of humor." She took his hand in both of hers. "Thank you, Corban." She saw something flicker in his eyes. With a sense of regret, she released him. She hadn't meant to give him a wrong impression. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." She slid into her car. He closed her door for her and stepped back as she buckled up and started the engine. Giving him a wave, she backed out of the parking space and headed toward the exit. When she pulled out of the lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Corban was still standing there, watching her.

"Nora!" Fred called when she left him talking with Dr. Patterson and headed down the hall. All she could think of was finding Annie before she left. Nora walked as fast as she could down the corridor to the elevator. Fred caught up with her as the doors opened. "Honey, wait a minute. . . ."

"I can't wait. I have to talk to Anne-Lynn." She stepped into the elevator and punched the button.

As soon as the doors opened again, she rushed out, racing for the hospital entrance. People stared after her. She didn't care what anyone thought. She didn't want her daughter to drive away without speaking to her. She'd never seen Annie look so torn or so filled with loathing. How could George lambaste Annie that way? If it hadn't been for the interference of that chaplain, Nora would have told her brother what she thought of his tirade.

The cold air hit her as soon as she went through the automatic doors. Hugging her coat closer, she scanned the parking lot and spotted Corban Solsek walking along a line of cars. He was alone. Her heart sank.

Fred came up behind her and put his hand beneath her elbow.

"She's gone, Fred."

"You'll see Annie again tomorrow morning."

"I can't leave things the way they are. Did you see the look on her face?"

"I saw," he said bleakly. "What do you want to do?"

Nora drew the fur-lined coat more firmly around herself. Still the cold seeped in. She felt chilled from the inside out. "Anne-Lynn has had all these months to hear my mother's side of everything. I want her to understand my side."

"Maybe you should wait, honey. She's upset."

She turned on him. "I'm upset, too. That's my mother in there." She understood the quiet look he gave her. About time you realized that. She uttered a broken sob and closed her eyes. "I never thought I'd feel this way about losing her, but it's tearing me up inside. I've never wished her to die." Haven't you? "Mother never cared about me. And I can see Annie doesn't think I care about her. And I do. I do!"

He put his arms around her. "I know you do."

She pushed away from him. "I want her to know it! I want Anne-Lynn to understand what it was like to live in that house. If Mother dies now, do you think my daughter will ever listen to my side? I have to talk with her now." She dug in her pocket for a Kleenex and couldn't find one. Fred handed her his freshly laundered handkerchief.

People walked around them. Fred took her arm and gently drew her to one side. The wind was coming up from the bay.

Nora felt desperate. "Please, Fred." He looked every day of his fifty-seven years.

"All right." He put his arm around her, and they walked across the parking lot to his Lincoln. As he opened the door for her, he said, "When you start talking, Nora, keep in mind this may be the last bridge. Try not to burn it."

Annie hadn't stopped crying all the way back to Leota's house. She pulled her car into the driveway, locked it up for the night, and went into the house. She flicked on the kitchen light before locking the back door and closing off the small laundry room.

She had pleaded with God all the way home to bring healing to Grandma's body so that she could have more time with her. And if that wasn't His will, she'd pleaded that she could bring Leota home to die.

It would be better if she did some chores or something so she could calm herself down before calling Susan's mother and asking for help. She had to get rid of this feeling of panic in the pit of her stomach.

Father, please. Jesus, help me. Holy Spirit, give me wisdom. Give me the words to convince- The doorbell rang.

Annie groaned. Oh, God, I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I need to clean up the kitchen. The frying pan with the congealed scrambled eggs had been dumped into the sink, the unused dishes and silverware still on the nook table. She scraped the eggs into the garbage can under the sink. Setting the pan under the faucet, she turned on the hot water and squirted some liquid soap into the stream.

The doorbell rang again.

It was probably Arba. She usually came by in the evening to say hello and spend a few minutes with Leota. Oh, Lord, I forgot about the children! They would've come by today. Shutting off the water, Annie headed quickly into the living room. She flicked on the porch light, glanced out the curtain, and then drew back in shock. In its wake came cold rage. "Go away, Mother! Leave me alone!"

"Anne-Lynn, I need to talk with you."

"I don't want to talk to you! I don't care if I ever see you again!" She turned her back and headed for the kitchen. How could her mother come here now? She had sat silently in that waiting room, letting Uncle George rant on. "Your mother agrees . . . ," Uncle George had said. "You were going to do something about your daughter. Did you call the lawyer?" Her mother, the betrayer.

The doorbell rang again.

Annie stood at the kitchen sink, shaking. She turned the water on again. She let it run until the sink was almost full before shutting it off. Closing her eyes, she prayed fervently. God, make her go away. I'm not up to seeing her now. Lord, help me hold my temper. Jesus, I can't bear any more. I think I hate her after tonight. I hate her as much as she's hated Grandma Leota all these years.

Shock ran cold and deep through Annie at the thought. Oh, Lord. Is this the way it will be? May it never be so. Only make her go away. Make her go away until I'm calmer. Make her go away until I can think.

She drew a lungful of air in through her nose and blew it slowly from her mouth. It was a technique her piano teacher had taught her to calm the jitters before a recital. Her heart was pounding and she felt so hot. Bloodlust instead of the cleansing blood?

Jesus, help me!

The doorbell rang again.

Something burst inside her. "Okay, Mother. If that's the way you want it!" She strode back through the living room, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. "Did it ever occur to you I might not want to see you tonight?" She clamped her teeth before she screamed, "Or ever again!"

"Anne-Lynn, please, I need to speak with you."

"You never know when to leave people alone, do you?"

"This is the only time-"

"You always have to do things on your time schedule and in your way, no matter how anyone else feels."

"Annie." Fred's voice came from behind her mother. "Please. Hear your mother out."

The expression on his face smote Annie's conscience. Fred had always treated her with the same tenderness he would his own daughter if he'd had one. It wasn't fair to put him in the middle of this. Relenting, she unlocked the screen door and moved back so they could come in. "Five minutes, Mother. And that's it."

"Five minutes is all you can spare your own mother?"

How many times had Annie heard that faintly sarcastic whine of self-pity in her mother's voice? Annie looked at her. "You've used up thirty seconds."

Her mother blinked and then sat slowly on the sofa. "My mother's turned you against me."

"That's rich, Mother, especially considering all the years you've done your level best to poison me against Grandma Leota." Her mother looked shocked and then devastated, but Annie had seen that look before. How many times had her mother used that look against her?

How could you get a B+, Anne-Lynn? I'm so disappointed in you. If you needed help, why didn't you tell me? I would have hired a tutor . . . What do you mean you want to stop taking gymnastics? The physical therapist said you could compete again next year . . . If you'd only apply yourself a little more, Anne-Lynn, you could play that piece without the music . . . Veronica's daughter is head cheerleader. How can you be satisfied just being a pom-pom girl?

Annie struggled against the resentment rising up in her, the hurt that had sometimes almost overwhelmed her. She had toyed with the idea of suicide the year Susan invited her to church camp. Had she not met the Lord that summer, she wouldn't even be alive today. Did her mother know how far she'd pushed her?

"I never meant to poison you, Anne-Lynn."

"Of course not." The bitter anger poured out of Annie, despite her efforts to stop it. "You just took every opportunity to tell me what an awful childhood you had and how your mother was so terrible. You made sure I never had any time with her. God forbid that I might get to know my own grandmother!"

"Annie," Fred said, again in that tender voice. "Who are you serving in this?"

It was enough to draw her up short. Who am I serving? Oh, Lord, Lord . . .

"I came here to explain how I felt . . ." Her mother's voice cracked.

"Oh, Mother," Annie said, weary and sick at heart. "You've told me a hundred times how you felt. Dumped. Unloved. Neglected. And you've paid Grandma Leota back in kind."

"You make it sound like I was avenging myself."

"Weren't you? As soon as you were able, you left."

"I got married."

"Miserably married. You've told me that, too. Michael's wretched father. And it was all Grandma's fault you left home so young. You've made no secret you hate her."

"I don't hate her!"

"Words are cheap. I've never seen you do anything for her in the eighteen years of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times we came here, and you always sent me and Michael outside as though Grandma were some kind of disease you didn't want us to get! And within half an hour, you'd have one of your convenient headaches and we'd all have to go home. You'd talk against her the whole way-"

"I can't be in this house without remembering what it was like!"

"I love being in this house. I love being with Grandma Leota."

Her mother's face jerked as though Annie had struck her. "You don't understand."

Annie had seen what bitterness and resentment had done to her mother. Oh, God, don't let me become like her. My anger is so great, I could destroy her with it and be glad. And then what? I'd live with regret for the rest of my life because I love her. She's my mother, God help me. Oh, Lord, please, light my way. Be with us here, Lord. We need You!

She let out her breath. "Grandma Leota has memories, too, Mother. She was hurt. You don't know anything about what was going on."

"Eleanor and George didn't understand, and it wasn't my secret to tell."

Her mother stiffened. "And you do?"

Fred put his hand over her mother's. "Maybe if you told us, Annie."

"She wouldn't listen, Fred."

"I'll listen," her mother said angrily. "I'll listen, if you listen."

"I have listened, Mother. I've listened to your side all my life. You want me to repeat what I know? You were three years old when Leota handed you over to Grandma Helene. And then she waltzed off to work like a single woman and enjoyed a life of her own without so much as a glance over her shoulder at the children she'd dumped. And when she was home, all she cared about was her garden. She never cared about you. All she ever cared about was herself." Annie dashed the tears angrily from her face. "Isn't that what you were going to say?"

Her mother's face jerked again, tears flooding her eyes. "It's the way it was."

"No, it wasn't. It was the way you perceived it through your child eyes."

"Grandma Helene said she-"

"Don't you dare blame it all on her. She's dead! She can't defend herself. And at least she had the decency to finally put it all together for herself!" Annie could scarcely believe the words had come from her mouth.

Her mother looked at Fred, her face crumpling. "I told you . . ."

"Annie." Fred looked at her, pleading. "For God's sake, she's your mother."

Shame filled her.

"Honor thy father and mother. . . ."

I'm becoming just like my mother. Annie wilted into her grandmother's recliner. Oh, Jesus, forgive me. I'm hammering the nails into Your hands all over again. What sort of witness am I of Your love? What can I do to make it right?

Forgive her.

Her hands clenched on the armrests. I do, Father. Oh, Lord, I do, but I can't say it because she won't understand why I'm forgiving her. How can she? She doesn't know what she's done. She doesn't know the half of it. I feel as though I've fallen away.

Rise up.

I'm sitting in the darkness here.

Let Me be your light.

And the light is truth.

Truth!

Suddenly calm inside, Annie knew what to say. "Mom, you never understood what was going on."

Her mother raised her eyes. She looked desolate. "What didn't I understand? My mother didn't love me."

"You're so wrong. She sacrificed everything for you and Uncle George. The reason Grandma moved in here in the first place was to see to your needs. She didn't have enough money to support you on her own, and Grandpa Reinhardt couldn't get work."

"That's a lie, Anne-Lynn! My grandfather went to work every day."

"He left the house every day. And he sat on a bench in Dimond Park. He was German, Mother. Think this through. He was an immigrant with a heavy German accent during World War II. No one would hire him. He was using up what savings he had. He knew he was going to lose the house. And then what would happen? So he wrote to your father, who was serving overseas, and asked him for help. Your father wrote to Grandma Leota and told her the situation. She was having financial troubles of her own trying to make ends meet on your father's military allotment and rearing two children by herself. So she moved in here and went to work. She thought it was the only way they could all make it. She's the one who paid for the house and the food and utilities and the clothes on everyone's back."

Her mother looked frightened. "But Grandma Helene said my grandfather was an engineer."

Annie wondered if her mother had listened to a word she had said. "I don't doubt he was an engineer, Mother, but not an employed engineer. Your grandmother didn't know he couldn't find work. He was too embarrassed to tell her. He went out looking for a job every day until he realized no one would hire him."

"If all that's true, why didn't my mother tell Grandma Helene?" she said almost defiantly. "Grandma said the most awful things to Mother, and she never said anything about this."

"Because Great-Grandpa Reinhardt was her only friend in this house. If she told your grandmother the truth, what would that have accomplished? She might have avenged herself on your grandmother, but she would've shamed your grandfather in the process. So she kept silent. She thought everything would turn out all right when your father came home. Do you remember what happened? When the war ended and your father came home, your grandfather signed the house over to him. Why would he do that, Mom, if what Grandma Leota said wasn't true?"

Her mother closed her eyes. "I can remember the night that happened. Grandma Helene was screaming and crying and calling my mother a whore and a thief. She said my mother was unnatural because she didn't want her children. George and I hid under our covers and cried."

Annie's heart broke for the frightened child her mother must've been.

Her mother let out a shuddering breath. "And my father. I was terrified of him. I was so little when he went away, I didn't know him when he came home. He was so tall and broad and blond, and he had the coldest blue eyes. Just like one of those German Aryans you read about." Her face was white, her expression distant, remembering. "Once he got so mad, he put his fist through a wall. That one, right over there by the kitchen door." Her mouth curled. "He was always losing a job because of his temper. And then his drinking. He turned into a lazy drunk."