He was a fraud, but Margaret had a weakness for fraudulence. Fake cakes in the bakery windows lovelier than any real slice, her husband, her Saturday afternoon movie matinees, the packets of saccharine she sprinkled on her cereal. He said, “Bertha would want women here. You need them, anyhow. Get in some girls to set the pins.” “Girls?” said Margaret. “I can’t talk to the dead,” said Cadey. “No man can.” “All right,” she said wryly.
