“Morning,” Elizabeth said, looking up. She didn’t sound annoyed, or cold—just… normal. “Sugar?” She held up a small ceramic bowl, the one Gwen kept in the pantry.
Gwen nodded, and Elizabeth spooned sugar into her tea, stirring it twice clockwise, just the way Gwen liked it. How did she remember that? They’d only had tea together once, ten years ago, when Albert was in the hospital. Gwen had thought Elizabeth hadn’t paid attention.
They drank in silence, the only sound the tick of the clock and the distant chirp of a bird. When they finished, Gwen stood to clear the table, but Elizabeth was already on her feet, grabbing a dish towel. “You don’t have to do that,” Gwen said.
Elizabeth shook her head, wiping down the counter with quick, efficient motions. “It’s better than just sitting around.” She paused, then added, quieter, “Dad always said that. When Mom died, he cleaned the whole house twice. Said it kept the thoughts from eating him.”
Gwen’s breath caught. Elizabeth almost never talked about her mother—Lila, who’d died when Elizabeth was 12, the year Albert met Gwen. It was a line Gwen had never dared cross. “He said the same thing to me,” she admitted. “When my sister passed. I folded every sheet in the house three times.”
Elizabeth glanced up, and their eyes met. For a second, there was no stepmother, no stepdaughter—just two women who’d loved the same man, and lost him. Then Elizabeth looked away, going back to the counter. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s Dad.”