Chapter 13

“What’s her name?” Marta asked.

She thought she could hear the kitchen radio for a moment, and then it went silent, the sound of the back door opening and closing.

“Sylvia Plath,” Charlie answered at last, and then sighed, abruptly changing the subject. “Do you remember when Dad used to play the piano?”

Marta grinned suddenly.

“Yes, I remember your father’s piano playing quite well.”

“Why did he stop?” Charlie asked, suddenly painfully earnest of expression.

Marta looked troubled for a moment, reaching up to brush a curl of dark hair behind her ear

“I don’t think he ever intended to stop,” she said.