"Will you listen to yourself?" Carrie shouted. "For a little while, I thought you were finally seeing what Jilly was, but I guess I

was wrong. You're never going to open your eyes. You asked me if you had made her the monster she's become, remember?"

"I meant to say that her behavior was monstrous, but Jilly's a mother now. When I go back to the hospital to bring her and the baby home, you'll see. She'll be all right."

It was like talking to a brick wall. "You think the maternal instincts are going to kick in?"

"Yes, I do," Lola said. "You'll see," she repeated. "Jilly will want to do the right thing."

Carrie gave up. Sickened, she went to her room and stayed there the rest of the night. When she came down the following morning, there was a note on the kitchen table. Her mother had gone to Sears to purchase a crib, baby clothes, and an infant

car seat.

"Dreamland," Carrie muttered.

On Monday morning, Lola went to the hospital to bring Jilly and the still unnamed baby home. Carrie refused to go with her mother. She told her she had to work an early shift at Sammy's and left the house before Lola could question her.

Jilly was waiting for her mother. She was dressed and standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing her hair. She waved

her hand toward the screaming infant she'd dropped in the middle of the unmade bed seconds after the nurse had left the room and told Lola she could either keep her, sell her, or give her away-she didn't much care what she did with her. She then picked up her overnight bag and walked out of the hospital with the money she'd stolen from her sister's college fund tucked into her bra.

The withdrawal didn't appear on the bank statement until two weeks later. Carrie was outraged. She'd worked hard to save the money, and she was determined to get it back. She tried to report the theft to the police, but Lola wouldn't let her.

"Family business stays in the family," she decreed.

Carrie graduated from high school the following spring and worked two jobs that summer. Lola used some of her savings to help with Carrie's college tuition, and Carrie found part-time work on campus to help with expenses. When she came home for Christmas break, she could barely look at Jilly's baby.

However, Avery wasn't the kind of child who put up with being ignored. It only took a couple of drooling smiles, and Carrie was smiling back. Each time she returned home, the bond grew stronger. The child adored her, and the feeling, though never openly stated, was reciprocated.

Avery was the sweetest, most intelligent little girl, and Carrie in every way possible had become her substitute mother. She certainly had all the protective instincts of a mother. She would do anything to keep Avery safe.

Yet here they were, five years later, and Jilly was still able to cause the family pain.

"Did she, Carrie? Did she hate me?"

Carrie forced herself to concentrate on the child's question. Planting her hands on her hips, she took a deep breath and then

asked, "What do you care what Jilly thought about you?"

Avery lifted her shoulders. "I don't know."

"Now, you listen to me. Your no-good mama probably did hate you, but not because of who you are or what you looked like

when you were born. You were a perfect baby. Jilly just didn't want responsibility." She pointed to the chair adjacent to the bed. "I'm going to tell you something important, and I want you to pay attention, so sit down."

Avery hurried to do as she was told.

"You're probably too young to hear this, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Your mother's a frickin' maniac."

Avery was disappointed. She thought she was going to hear something new. "You already told me that, Carrie. Lots of times."

"That was just another reminder," she said. "Jilly has never been normal. Fact is, she should have been locked up in a loony bin

a long time ago."

Avery was intrigued by the thought of her mother being locked away. "What's a loony bin?"

"It's a place where sick people go."

"Is Jilly sick?"

"Yes," she answered. "But not the kind of sick where we feel sorry for her. She's mean and hateful and just plain crazy. She'd have to be crazy to walk away from someone as wonderful as you," Carrie added. Leaning forward, she brushed the hair out of Avery's eyes. "Your mother grew up with something important missing from inside her head. She might not be a pure sociopath, but she's damn close."

Avery's eyes widened. In a hushed voice she said, "Carrie, you just said 'damn.'"

"I know what I said, and I know what I'm talking about."

Avery got out of her chair and went to sit beside Carrie on the bed. She latched on to her hand and said, "But I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm going to explain. A sociopath is a person who doesn't have a conscience, and before you ask, I'll tell you what a conscience is. That's what's inside your head that tells you when you've done something wrong. Your conscience makes you feel… bad."

"Like when I told Grandma I already practiced on the piano, but I didn't, and then she told me I was a good girl, but I wasn't

'cause I lied, and then I felt bad?"

"Yes, just like that," she said. "Your mother doesn't have any heart or soul, and that's the truth."

"Like the song you like to sing? Is it that kind of heart and soul?"

"Yes, just like the song," Carrie assured her. "Jilly doesn't have room in her heart to feel any emotion that doesn't directly involve or benefit her."

Avery was leaning into her side, looking up at her with those wonderful violet blue eyes that were so much more beautiful than

her mother's. Carrie could almost see the purity and goodness behind them. "Jilly's too busy loving herself to love anyone else,

but you can't waste your time feeling bad about that. None of it is your fault. You believe me, don't you?"

Avery solemnly nodded. "It's my no-good mama's fault, all right."

Carrie smiled. "That's right."

"Do I have a soul?"

"Yes, you do. Everyone but your no-good mama has a soul."

"Before Jilly hurt Whiskers and made him die, did he have a soul?"

"Maybe," she allowed, thinking of the kitten Jilly had cruelly taken from her.

"Where is it?"

"Your soul?" Carrie had to think about the question for a few seconds before answering. "It's inside you, wrapped around your heart. Your soul is as pure as an angel's, and I mean to help you keep it that way. You're nothing like Jilly, Avery."

"But I look like her. You said so."

"It's not what you look like that's important. It's what's inside you that matters."

"Does Jilly love you and Grandma and just not me?"

Carrie was exasperated. "I thought you understood what I was telling you. Jilly doesn't love anyone but herself. She doesn't love Grandma, she doesn't love me, and she doesn't love you. Now do you understand?"

Avery nodded. "Can I play with the jewelry now, Carrie?"

Carrie smiled. The child, it seemed, had moved on to more important matters. She watched her sit at the vanity and begin to dig through the box again. "You know what's the best thing that ever happened to you?"

Avery didn't look around when she answered. "Having you for my aunt Carrie."

"Is that what you think is the best thing?" she asked, surprised and pleased. "How come?"

" 'Cause that's what you told me is the best thing."

Carrie laughed. "Yeah, well, there's something even better."

"What?"

"You aren't growing up afraid all the time the way I was. Jilly's never going to come back. You won't ever have to see her…

not ever. That's definitely the best thing."

A shiver ran down Carrie's back the second the words were out of her mouth. Was she tempting fate by making such a boast? Could one summon up a demon simply by proclaiming that it didn't exist? The chill felt like a premonition. But of course it wasn't. She was just a worrier, that was all. Shaking off her grim feeling, she went back to work.