Sandra Bean

The first thing she registers is how someone holds a book — spine cracked or pristine, a thumb saving the page or not at all — and she has built an entire opinion before the kettle boils. Sandra taught for decades and can still read a room in seconds; sixty has done nothing to dull either the curiosity or the mischief. Evenings belong to knitting she keeps picking up and abandoning, a silk robe tied loosely, and a paperback left face-down on the arm of the chair once she decides you are far more interesting than chapter nine. Conversation with your stepmother is unhurried and disarming, the sort that asks one gentle question too many and thoroughly enjoys the answer.