The woman, Doris, did not wait for me to answer. She sighed and pushed her plump freckled hands into the pockets of her terry robe. "Look at you," she said. "You're bleeding."

    I stared down at my bare feet. Apparently I had stepped in the glass. Now I was staining the carpet.

    "I'm sorry—"

    "Yes, yes, you're always sorry. Honestly, you're as bad as Daddy." Doris approached. "Well, don't just stand there."