Frank dropped the spatula.
Neither of us acknowledged what had happened.He only placed the pancake with the fewest burned edges onto my plate.
Five months later, my mother died.
A brain aneurysm took her so suddenly that my final ordinary memory of her was a conversation about whether I had put away my shoes.
Our house quickly filled with relatives.
They spoke quietly in hallways, glancing toward Frank whenever they believed I was not paying attention.
“He isn’t her real father.”
“Her aunt could take her.”
“He’ll want to
