I must’ve been called about that house upward of fifty times over a decade and a half. Teachers, neighbors, strangers, they all called to warn about Kate’s mother’s ways. I still know her address by heart, and that should tell you a little something about the kind of mother Merrill Burns was. But Kate really loved her. Some kids, you turn up and you just know their parents have bribed them into faking okay, but Kate really did seem okay. She was always smiling, always cheerful. Once I turned up and Kate answered the door and I asked where her mother was—this kid was probably five at the time—and she was clearly covering for Merrill. She took me by the hand and led me inside, into the kitchen, and pulled a seat back from the table. There were roaches in their house, I remember that. Scuttling around, as comfortable as if they were paying rent. Little five-year-old Kate goes, “Ma’s just touching up her face, but please, let me get you a snack.” She went to the cupboard, opened it, and said, “I’d like you to try my favorite cereal.” And that’s all that was in there. One single box of cereal. Kate poured some into a bowl and added water, like it was normal to eat cereal with water, and set the bowl in front of me. “Please,” she said. “Enjoy.” Merrill turned up a couple minutes later, came through the front door cursing like a sailor, and Kate goes, “Here she is! You finished powdering your nose, Ma?” As if this woman had been touching up her makeup outside on the driveway. She was a performer, that girl, could really turn it on, but I don’t think her performance was covering any kind of abuse. I think Kate was a genuinely happy kid.