Her first week in the huge house was a blur. The next was a little less so but still refused to come into focus, and at times outright dreamlike.
Oh, it was pleasant enough—waking in the blue bedroom each snowy morning, a breakfast that was always just what she was craving, and wandering the house until a lunch that was, more often than not, childlike as well. There was a comfort in peanut-butter-and-jelly or more grilled cheese, especially when there were three whole sandwiches accompanied by cut-up apples with a bath of lemon juice to keep them from browning, as much milk as Zoe wanted, and seconds if she was still hungry. And the hot chocolate—real hot chocolate, not the grainy mix kind. Amelia melted tiny medallions of bittersweet in heavy cream, adding fine sugar and whisking in a co
