Carly and I sat there. Neither of us said anything for a long time. Outside the window the parachute went up again. Finally Carly folded both stories carefully along their old creases, hers and Elsie's, and put them in the envelope with the faded star, and held it in both hands in her lap.
"I'm going to go get her," I said.
Carly nodded without looking at me. "Galen."
I stopped at the door.
"I didn't know you were watching," she said. "This morning. At the table. If I'd known you were there —"
"I know," I said. "That's the thing, Carly. That's exactly the thing."
I went out into the hall. Elsie was on the bench under the coat hooks with the book closed on her lap. It was a picture book about a lighthouse keeper, an old one, with a red cover. She'd picked it out herself. She looked up at me with her face very carefully blank, the brass star on her shirt catching the light from the window at the end of the hall, and she said, "Is Mom mad?"
I sat down next to her on the bench. "No," I said. "Mom's not mad at you. Mom's sad. Not because of you."
"Because of me asking for the cupcake?"