My father closed the booklet with a sharp snap, and the sound of it was the loudest thing that had happened all day, and I understood that the snap was the sound of a story ending — the story Nana had been telling him about me, closing shut for good between his two hands.

Chapter 13 — The House Key

The screen door banged open before he could say another word, and Nana walked into the kitchen holding her purse and my wool coat, which the clinic must have handed back to her after we left.

She draped the coat over the back of my chair as carefully as if the whole morning had gone exactly to plan.

“I certainly hope everyone in this house is feeling calmer now,” she said, and smoothed her blouse.

I reached behind me and took the coat off my chair and laid it on the empty table, out of the shape she had arranged it in.