“Brody . . . the cradle. The nanny. You do it because you want to help. But I need to earn things. I need to know they are mine.” “They are yours.” “No, they’re not. They’re gifts.” “What’s wrong with gifts?” She stared at me, searching for the right words. When she found them, her gaze softened. “I went for so long wondering what was going to happen. I have spent so long relying only on myself.” “And now you have me.” “Brody, I know this seems strange. I know Clara can take a gift and say thank you. I can’t.” “Why?” “Because tomorrow it might be gone. If I earn it myself, then maybe it won’t
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