I told her that the cake I remembered from childhood had always tasted brighter than other people’s.

“That was the lemon,” she said.

“Or maybe it was you.”

She stopped stirring.

We both went quiet, and then she reached over to squeeze my shoulder.

Lucas appeared in the doorway with a grocery bag.

“I found the tea you like,” he told Miriam, holding up a box.

She thanked him, then turned back to me.