And afterwards, the next day, church day, she will spend the church morning lying on the couch with her father, the brought-inside glasses mostly on the floor with a ring of lime liquid and something else that she drinks when her father can't see but she cannot bounce or move around too much or her father will say something and her mother will call Laura, come help me with this, and her father will say go on now baby. Go on. Afterwards there will be mornings after mornings and a string of new cars and the move to a house with no fence and her father without his beard now carrying his briefcase upstairs and her brother -- her brother! her brother who will never stand upon a scratchy board, her brother who remains stopped at the puzzle piece chicken -- her father speaks to her and touches her brother's hair then goes slowly up the stairs with his briefcase to take a short nap before dinner. Laura will move on from flash cards and puzzles to a school with green uniforms and dark green socks and learn the butterfly on Wednesday autumn afternoons. In the summer she will go to a new pool with a golf course in front and a snack bar and a patio grill where you can pay just by signing your name.