Free House of Wonder by Sarah Healy

sat myself down in front of my computer with the intention of getting some work done. But my mind veered continually off course until I heard the crunch of tires on our gravel driveway and rose to peer surreptitiously out thewindow. Miriam Nash stepped out of the passenger side of her husband’s very British SUV and began unstrapping Rose from her booster seat.
    â€œWhen you come to Connecticut,” I heard her say, “you’ll get to see your cousins Madison and Lincoln.” Duncan’s sister had subscribed to the convention of naming her progeny after dead presidents. “Would you like that?”
    I waited, tucked out of sight, feeling disoriented by events of the previous night, and watched Miriam, whose silver bob was pushed back neatly by a headband, and Rose, whose chaotic red curls looked like tangled yarn.
    Miriam took Rose’s hand and led her up the stone path to the front steps of our tiny green gambrel cottage, which was once the residence of the caretaker to the large estate situated several hundred yards back.
Neat as a pin!
the ad had said. And despite its dated touches—the wood-paneled kitchen, the avocado-colored carpet—it was. The property was still crisscrossed with horse paddocks, though the Pritchards, from whom we rented, no longer rode or bred. Mrs. Pritchard’s husband had suffered a punctured lung from a kick from a stallion, and after that, the stable had been sold off, animal by animal.
    When the bell rang, I hung back for a moment, then strapped on a big, gracious smile. “Hi, you two,” I said warmly as I opened the front door. Squatting down, I held out my arms and let Rose fly into them. “My girl,” I said, holding the back of her head in my hand. “I missed you.” With one of Rose’s hands in mine, I stood. “Did you guys have a fun night?” I asked, looking from Rose to Miriam and back to Rose again.
    â€œYeah,” answered Rose casually, as she walked past me intoour home, letting her backpack slide off her back, “I got to have waffles for dinner.”
    Miriam’s gaze followed Rose inside the house, where she was riffling through a bag full of grandparent-acquired booty. Rose loved to gather trinkets, to collect coins and wrappers and ribbons. She was always bereft when I insisted on throwing any of it away. It made me worry that she had some of my mother’s nature, that one day she would find herself a captive of it. “It’ll be good for Rose,” said Miriam, her head tilted affectionately, “to have her daddy back in the States.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “she was just asking about when she would see him again.”
    Miriam let out a noise that signified her profound relief. “I’m
so glad
they’re bringing him back to New York.”
    From the inside out, I felt myself stiffen. “You mean for the holidays?” I asked.
    Miriam met my eye, her expression echoing the confusion in my own. “Well, he’ll be back in time for Christmas,” she explained, with a gentle smile. “But he’s moving back to the States. He’s done in Tokyo.”
    â€œOh,” I said, as if I were pleased, “that’s great!”
    Miriam’s face twisted just a touch, as if she found my ignorance troubling. “I’m sure he’ll be calling you about it soon.”
    â€œOh,” I said lightly, brushing away the slight, “I’m sure he will.”
    Miriam nodded. “When we spoke to him,” she started cautiously, “we mentioned how nice it would be to have Rose come and spend Christmas with us up in Connecticut.” My hand darted up to my chest and I began worrying my necklace, a single hammered gold disk with the letter
R
carved into it. Ithad been a gift from my mother.
And Warren,
the card had said. “It would give her a chance to get to know her cousins,” Miriam explained. “And of course she