Belinda’s mother was long dead or long gone before she had any memory of her. Her father spoke of her rarely, and only while in his cups. Sometimes he said she was dead, other times run off. Belinda had never gotten the truth and didn’t much care either way. She’d never shared Sophie’s curiosity on that front. Belinda didn’t hate her father. He’d been a good enough one by Old City standards, especially in the early days. While a regular drunk, he was never a mean one. Even though they had trouble enough getting by, he’d taken in Sophie after her own father had died, without so much as a word
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