The third time my eight-year-old granddaughter opened the door wearing the same faded blue dress, I knew something was wrong. It hung from her narrow shoulders like a garment borrowed from someone twice her size, with a loose thread dangling from the left sleeve and a hem that nearly touched her ankles. Her blonde hair had been pulled into a crooked ponytail, and there was a faint stain near the collar that I remembered seeing during my previous visit. But it wasn't the dress that frightened me most. It was the way Lily looked over her shoulder before she whispered, "Grandma, I'm supposed to wear this one today."
I stood on the porch holding a small paper bag of blueberry muffins, trying to understand what she had just told me. Behind Lily, the house was immaculate, with polished hardwood floors, expensive furniture, and fresh flowers arranged on the entryway table. There was nothing about the place that suggested financial hardship or neglect. Yet my granddaughter stood in the doorway wearing clothes that looked as though they had come from the bottom of a donation box, and she was watching the kitchen with the nervous concentration of a child listening for approaching footsteps.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?" I asked.
Lily lowered her eyes. "Nothing."
"You said you're supposed to wear that dress."
She tightened her fingers around the fabric. "I forgot."
Before I could ask another question, her stepmother appeared at the end of the hallway.
Vanessa was thirty-eight, with short, carefully styled brown hair, gold earrings, and the kind of flawless appearance that made even an ordinary afternoon seem like a business meeting. She wore a burgundy blouse tucked into black trousers, and her face carried a pleasant expression that never quite reached her eyes.
"Margaret," she said brightly. "I didn't realize you'd arrived already."
I looked at my watch. It was exactly two o'clock, the time we had agreed upon three days earlier.
"Right on time," I said.
Vanessa smiled. "Of course. Lily, don't keep your grandmother standing in the doorway."
My granddaughter immediately stepped aside.
I entered the house, but as Vanessa leaned forward to take my coat, I noticed Lily pulling at the oversized sleeve of her dress. The little movement was almost invisible. It reminded me of how children sometimes adjust their clothing before a school photograph, except Lily wasn't trying to look prettier.