Then Camille stood.
She walked around the table, picked up the pie server, and cut an enormous slice of pumpkin pie.
She added a generous amount of whipped cream.
Then she placed it on Hannah’s plate.
“Eat your pie, sweetheart,” she said softly.
Her voice was
shaking.
“You don’t have to earn it.”
Hannah looked at her mother.
Then at me.
Finally, she picked up her fork and took a bite.
Mom stared at the pie server in Camille’s hand.
And suddenly, she began crying.
Not a few polite tears.
She covered her face, and her shoulders shook.
Dad immediately moved beside her.
“Maggie…”
She shook her head.
“No.”
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He gently touched her back.
“It’s okay.”
“No, Henry. It isn’t okay.”
She lowered her hands.
Her face was wet with tears.
“I heard myself.”
Nobody spoke.
“I heard what I said to Hannah. And I recognized it.”
