Ruth gently adjusted it.
"Sweetheart, is this comfortable?"
Lily nodded.
"Yes."
"Doesn't it feel a little big?"
My granddaughter looked toward Vanessa.
Then she answered.
"It's supposed to."
Ruth glanced at me.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
Vanessa appeared almost immediately.
"She's going through a phase where she likes loose clothing."
She smiled at Lily.
"Isn't that right?"
My granddaughter nodded.
Vanessa laughed.
"Children have such funny preferences."
The conversation moved on.
But afterward, Ruth pulled me aside.
"That child looked at Vanessa before she answered."
I lowered my voice.
"Maybe she's shy."
"She's known us her entire life."
I didn't answer.
Ruth studied me.
"Something isn't right."
I wanted to disagree.
Instead, I looked through the kitchen doorway at Lily.
She was sitting quietly beside Vanessa, folding a napkin into smaller and smaller squares.
The little girl who used to run through our family gatherings with a dozen questions now seemed afraid to speak unless someone invited her.
And I couldn't explain why.
The third incident was the faded blue dress.
The first time I saw it, I assumed Lily had chosen something comfortable.
The second time, I remembered the loose thread.
The third time, I began to understand that the repetition wasn't accidental.
That was the afternoon she whispered, "I'm supposed to wear this one today."
After Vanessa welcomed me inside, we sat at the dining table with coloring pencils and paper.
Lily liked drawing houses.
She usually included enormous windows, flower gardens, and little animals peeking out from unexpected places. Claire had loved drawing too, and watching Lily hold a pencil sometimes reminded me so strongly of my daughter that I had to look away.
That afternoon, she drew a girl wearing a green coat covered with tiny yellow stars.
I leaned closer.
"What a beautiful coat."
Lily smiled.
"Thank you."
"Did you invent it?"
She shook her head.
"I have one kind of like that."
Her pencil stopped moving.
I looked at her.
"A green coat?"
Lily glanced toward the kitchen.
Then she shook her head quickly.
"No."
I frowned.
"You just saidβ"
"I forgot."
Her voice had become very small.
I moved my chair closer.
"Lily, sweetheart, you can tell Grandma anything."
She looked down at her drawing.
For several seconds, she said nothing.