Lucy
The morning after Independence Day, I lay in my bed and watched the sun creep from one floorboard to the next. Lilith was awake, too; I could feel it in her arm that lay around my waist. From the kitchen we heard the clink of forks on plates, but neither of us moved until Mother came upstairs and opened our door. Her hair was in its snood and her dress was pressed in crisp pleats beneath her apron. Time to get up, she said.
She’d made an elaborate breakfast: hotcakes, sausages, eggs, potatoes, and even corn muffins, Lilith’s favorite. Father ate in his deliberate way while Mother scrubbed the pans, the sawing of the wire-bristle brush loud in the little room. I rearranged my food with my fork and stared at the butter dish in the middle of the table. The butter was soft, and brown cr
