My body leaned against the kitchen doorframe. I hesitated a moment before rapping my knuckles on the thick frame.

Cookie answered with a smile. "Good morning, Celeste." Her palm was slathering thyme over the plump turkey laying on the counter, but she stopped and wiped her hands on the towel when she saw me. "I haven't seen you in a while."

I fixated my attention on the doorframe. "I've been busy... the fittings, the planning." It needed to be repainted. Its white paint was peeling, curling like wisps off the frame.

"The party's in two days. You must be excited." Her voice was so sweet and innocent, like a soothing lullaby. I wanted it to lull me to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, the events of that night replayed in my mind. My eyes prickled.

"Yes," I said, edging closer into the room, "I am." My hand left the doorframe.

"I've been busy, too." Setting the turkey aside, she gripped the knife and started slicing the peeled onions.

"Your mother"—her nose flared—"has changed the menu three times in the past four days. She's lucky this is your engagement ball because if it were for anyone else...

"And Olive. That girl is useless. She has the attention span of a fly. I'm constantly warning and threatening her to finish her work, but does she listen?" She fisted her hip with her hand. "If she flicks that hair in my face one more time..." She shook her head. "You know what she did yester—"

"I saw you, Cookie." I clapped my hands over my mouth, and my eyes grew wide. I hadn't meant to say that. I felt the moisture welling in my eyes.

Cookie watched me carefully, a frown creasing her forehead. "What are you talking about, Celeste?"

Her soft voice wrapped around my ears, and her vanilla scent overwhelmed the room. Her velvet eyes drew me in, like a spell, demanding to know my secrets. The tears fell, but I didn't see them. The blood of that day as it spilled from the slain body and defiled the snow filled my mind.

"I saw you kill—" The words choked in my throat. "I saw you with Roscoe." I waited for her denial. I observed her, waiting for her soft eyes to crinkle with confusion at my bizarre accusation. I waited for her to cock an eyebrow and roll her eyes and to tell me that my novels were muddling my brain.

The clock ticked. The silence stretched. My heartbeat sped.

Finally, her lips firmed. Her sweet voice hardened. She looked less and less innocent and sounded as though she were addressing Roscoe and not me. She never looked at me that way.

Hands gripping her knife, she flew toward me. "What were you doing outside the wall, Celeste? You have no business out there."

My heart clenched, and my stomach knotted into twists. She didn't deny it. Why hadn't she denied it?

"Is it true then, Cookie? Did you actually—" I couldn't say it. My breaths became labored, and tears blinded my eyes. My chest hurt. I hunched over, burying my face in my hands.

"Celeste, you don't understand—"

"How could you?" My eyes swam among my tears. "I don't—I don't understand. I can't—" It hurt to speak. My throat felt raw. "I have to go." I pivoted toward the door. Cookie's hands lurched for me, trying to stay me. The knife in her hand caught my skin and pierced a long, straight line down my forearm.

I gasped, pulling my injured arm into my chest. "Celeste," Cookie breathed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that." Her hands reached for me, but I dodged to the left.

My eyes were wide. They stared vacantly at the knife grasped so effortlessly in her hand. The light bounced off the metal, and in its reflection, I saw the image of a gun.

My hand clasped my forearm, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but the crimson liquid dripped down my fingers like a trickling rivulet. I looked at my bleeding arm, and then at her hand, which held a knife that almost appeared to be a gun.

Cookie stepped toward me. I stepped back.

"Celeste. That was an accident."

"Was Roscoe, too?" My voice broke, and I sank to the floor.

Cookie followed me. Holding my cheeks between her hands, she said, "You weren't supposed to be there."

"But my absence wouldn't have made it right!"

I looked her in the eye. I felt her warm palm on my cheek. I allowed myself to absorb her sweet voice and vanilla scent and fierce love, but I didn't feel as warm and protected as I usually did. One lone tear streaked down my cheek at the loss of our bond. I knew she felt it, too, as her finger caught the tear before it fell to the ground.

"Celeste, you don't understand."

"Yes, I don't understand." I looked at her now. The hair, the eyes, the face. It was all the same, but irrevocably changed. The woman standing before me today could never be my mother.

Shaking my head, I peeled her hands away. I drew up to my feet. As I slowly drifted to the door, I whispered softly, "I can't understand how someone could take a human life as if it were no different from that turkey on the counter."