Bethany told Emma she took a bunch of drugs from Liz’s medicine chest and had to have her stomach pumped last Christmas.

 Emma gasped. “Oh, sweetheart, how terrifying! Please tell me you’ll never do that again!”

 “No, I won’t. It was horrid. It turns out Liz doesn’t have any good drugs,” Bethany said.

 “Well, I guess that’s a point in her favor,” Emma said. “I know Christmas is hard, Bethany, but if you start to feel terrible will you please tell a school counselor? Or teacher? Or someone?”

 “I could try, but I think I’m just going to ask my dad and Liz if I can be a foreign exchange student. My dad wants everything to be all right. But I think Liz would be happy to see me go.”

 “Do you have pictures of your mother?” Emma asked. “Pictures you can look at to give you comfort?”

 “I have some in my drawer.”

 “Bethany, what about your grandparents?”

 “My grandma is in assisted living. She was so good but when my mom died... She just got so old, so fast.”

 “And what about your friends from school?”

 “I have friends at school, but they don’t want to hang out anymore. I think I make them sad or something. And Liz makes them nervous. She’s too much.”

 Emma was almost surprised to hear the sound of her own laughter. “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this but I have a stepmother. And she’s too much, too.”

 “No way,” Bethany said.

 “Rosemary. I remember when my adviser in high school told me I was so lucky to have a mother like Rosemary who was strict and made sure my homework was done and had a strong set of values. She said I’d appreciate it someday. Rosemary was kind of scary. Her smile was fake, if you know what I mean.”

 “I know what you mean,” Bethany said. “My stepmother doesn’t like me. She pretends in front of my dad, but it’s not real. Sometimes I can hear her complaining and crying to him, saying I don’t appreciate her. Maybe it’s just because she’s not anything like my mother, I don’t know. It’s like we don’t live in the same house anymore.”

 “Tell me about your mother,” Emma said.

 “She was so sweet. Not that she couldn’t get mad—she chased me with a mop once, yelling her head off. But she couldn’t catch me and then she laughed her head off. She was kind of messy. She left her clothes on the closet floor all the time and our cleaning lady, Mary, she used to grumble and mutter and complain and my mother would laugh and say, “Come on, Mary! I’m such great job security!” But my mother could cook and bake! The house always smelled great. And she loved to go to my school things. She worked at my dad’s company, too, but she’d take off to help at school, to go on field trips, to watch my concerts and programs and stuff. And she used to...” Bethany’s voice slowed and stopped. Emma could tell she was crying. “We used to get in bed together and talk and rub each other’s backs and heads and laugh and fall asleep in a pile.”

 Emma struggled to find her own voice. “I love your mother,” she finally said.

 “Thank you for saying that because I believe you, and you don’t even know her. I wish I could be with her.”

 “She’s with you in your heart and I believe she’s watching over you. You’re going to be like her, you know. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but you’re going to have a great life and make your house smell like great things are baking and laugh with your children and fall asleep in a pile. You will, Bethany. I grew up and moved away from my stepmother and you’ll move away from yours.”

 “Did you move away and have a great life?”

 Emma bit her lip. It wasn’t really a lie if she thought about where she was now. “Yes, I have a lovely life. A happy life.”

 “Cleaning houses?”

 “Yes. And meeting wonderful people.”

 When they hung up, Emma drove the rest of the way home, crying all the way. Was she helping by taking these calls from this poor, grief-stricken, lonely girl?

 She remembered when her life was at a point like that, when she’d lost her father, when she was just sixteen. But she had Riley. And Riley hadn’t been afraid to hang out.

 * * *

 The twenty-third of December fell on Friday and that was the day Penny and her girlfriends chose for their little Christmas party. The girls had decided that everyone would bring substantial hors d’oeuvres and Marilyn agreed to make two desserts. They were going to have a cocktail party and ornament exchange.

 Earlier in the week Emma had helped Penny bring in her tree and put her decorations up. She brought another centerpiece and wine; her wrapped presents were under Penny’s tree. She’d been looking forward to this holiday for weeks, her first Christmas as a free woman. And especially her evening with the girls, Penny, Susan, Dorothy and Marilyn. But all the while, it was hard for her to shake off Bethany’s call.

 Their wine was poured, their cocktail plates were loaded, they were comfy in Penny’s little living room and someone toasted, “Another year gone to hell.” They all said Here! Here! with laughter.

 “You’re not quite as perky as usual, Emma,” Marilyn pointed out. “You haven’t had another pan of pee tossed at your head, have you?”

 Emma shot wide eyes to Penny. “You told?”

 “Way to keep it to yourself, Marilyn,” Penny scolded.

 “Well, I don’t have to keep it from Emma, do I? You haven’t had a falling out with that lovely Adam, have you?”

 “No, he remains lovely. Really, Penelope, I can’t believe you told about that! I’ll see Adam late tomorrow night after he has his dinner and celebration with his family. I have the littlest work problem, that’s all.”