“Ma, about Dassi. You know she wasn’t really having work done, right?”

T

he beautiful engraved front door seemed to be mocking her.

Why did she feel like she was trespassing? Libby knocked on the door twice, then pushed it open. “Camille?”

The old maid came hurrying over.

“Mrs. Libby, I was just coming to answer,” she said reprovingly.

Libby smiled tightly. “That’s okay, I can let myself in.”

Camille smiled back even tighter. “Of course, Mrs. Libby. I’ll tell Mrs. Frankel you are here.”

Now Libby was genuinely annoyed. She wasn’t a social caller; she was the daughter-in-law of 16 years.

“Oh, please don’t bother, I’ll just go tell Mom I’m here myself.” And she brushed up the staircase before the maid could utter a word of protest.

Akiva’s mother had generously offered for Libby to come pick up the gold coat rack from the basement suite; Libby had realized it would be the perfect touch to her showroom, and no one was staying in the suite now that Menashe and Dassi had moved into their palace.

“Mom?” she called softly. She was torn between wanting to show she belonged in her in-laws’ home and feeling very out of place in the giant house in the middle of the day. She followed the sound of voices into her mother-in-law’s large, carpeted closet room.

Mom was sitting at the vanity, her beloved sheitelmacher, Ronit, standing behind her. The blow dryer was on, which was probably why neither woman heard Libby. Smiling, Libby hurried forward, only to pause when she heard her own name.

“...Libby and the kids… blow blow…. Entirely ridiculous… blow blow… mortified in my entire life! Blow blow… sitting up there, banging those sticks around like he was in an after-school band.”