“Just look at this,” my mother said.

She stepped forward, grabbed the empty pitcher off the table and set it down hard on the granite counter.

She started picking at the edge of her thumbnail while she stared at the mess in Emma’s lap.

“I can wash it out this minute,” I said.

“It’s just completely out of control,” my mother said.

“She can’t sit properly for ten minutes.

You need to discipline her, Rachel.”

I pulled a handful of paper towels off the holder and knelt next to Emma’s chair.

The syrup was already going stiff in the cotton.

“It was an accident,” I said.

“Emma, stand up for a second so I can get this off you.”

Emma slid down from the tall chair.

She kept her head bowed toward the floor.

“Did I do it the wrong way?” Emma asked.