Six
Zelda hated conversations about children. She was not someone who had a natural inclination to love children. She loved her own, of course. That almost went without saying. It was the conversations about other children that dulled her mind.
Her colleagues knew. They would save the special stories for Zelda. She knew they did, so she schooled her face to show only polite interest. No matter what story she was told, her face was polite and interested. It had become a competition in the department to find material that would push her face into emotion.
“Petunia was with her cousin yesterday,” she was told, and she decided to keep her safe face by contemplating why on earth a modern child was named “Petunia”.
Petunia had found a bicycle pump that her uncle hadn’t bothered putting away.
