She doesn’t tell them that every Saturday morning Mr. Gregory wraps a worn, berry-stained apron around his waist and makes pancakes. That Mrs. Gregory gives her a bath and tucks her in each night. That Sunday afternoons are her favorite time, when she and the Gregorys all sit in the library and listen to the New York Philharmonic on the radio. That some nights she can no longer remember what they look like. On those nights, she turns the light back on and stares at their photo, trying to memorize the details. Those are the nights they enter her dreams.
