“It worked.”
“You sound impressed.”
“I appreciate decisive public communication.”
I looked down at my plate.
The story felt too large for the kitchen.
Annie laughing at breakfast.
Annie underwater.
Annie in my bed.
Savannah smiling for strangers while my hand fell away from hers.
“Her real name is Annie Miller,” I said.
Mom nodded.
“That’s what you call her.”
“Yes.”
“What does she call herself?”
“Both, I think. She just doesn’t know how to be both at once.”
Dad glanced toward his legal pad.
Mom moved it farther along the counter.
“Did she lie?” Mom asked.
“She left things out.”
“Large things?”
“Stadium-sized.”
Mom made a face.
“Technically honest. Emotionally useless.”
“Exactly.”
Dad cut another piece of bread.
“Your mother once told me she worked in health.”
“I worked at a dentist’s office.”
“You answered the phone for one summer.”
“People had health.”
Mom turned back to me.
