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Marilyn touched a hand to her hair and felt frizz.
玛丽琳摸了摸头发，觉得头发卷了起来。
Her braid had come undone; her feet were bare; the kitchen was overly warm, overly bright.
她的辫子松开了；她光着脚；厨房里太暖和，太亮了。
She felt like a child who'd overslept, wandering downstairs, late to everything.
她觉得自己像个睡过头的孩子，在楼下游荡，做什么事都慢吞吞的。
Lydia and Nath stared at her warily across the table, as if she might suddenly do something unexpected, like scream, or explode.
莉迪亚和纳隔着桌子警惕地盯着她，好像她会突然做一些意想不到的事情，比如尖叫或爆炸。
Nath's mouth puckered, as if he were sucking something sour, and Marilyn wanted to stroke his hair and tell him that she hadn’t planned any of this, hadn’t meant for this to happen.
纳撅着嘴，好像在吮吸什么酸涩的东西，玛丽琳想抚摸他的头发，告诉他这一切都不是她的计划，不是她的本意。
She could see the question in their eyes.
她从他们眼里看出了疑问。
"I'm home," she repeated, nodding, and they ran to hug her then, warm and solid, slamming into her legs, burying their faces in her skirt.
“我回家了，”她重复道，点了点头，然后他们跑过去拥抱她，温暖而坚实，撞在她的腿上，把脸埋在她的裙子里。
One tear trickled down Nath's cheek, one ran along Lydia's nose, catching in her lips.
一颗泪珠顺着纳的面颊滚落，一颗顺着莉迪亚的鼻子滚落，落在她的嘴唇上。
Marilyn's hand burned and throbbed, as if she were holding a hot little heart in her palm.
玛丽莲的手烧灼着，搏动着，仿佛她手里握着一颗滚烫的小心脏。
"Were you good while I was away?" she asked, crouching on the linoleum beside them. "Did you behave?"
“我不在的时候你们表现好吗?”她蹲在他们旁边的油毡上问。
To Lydia, her mother's return was nothing short of a miracle.
对莉迪亚来说，母亲归来简直是个奇迹。
She had made a promise and her mother had heard it and come home. She would keep her word.
她做出了承诺，母亲听到了就回家了。她会信守诺言的。
That afternoon, when her father had hung up the phone and said those astonishing words—Your mother is coming home—she had made a decision: her mother would never have to see that sad cookbook again.
那天下午，父亲挂了电话，说了那些令人吃惊的话：你妈妈要回家了。莉迪亚于是做了一个决定：她妈妈再也不用看那本悲伤的食谱了。
At Mrs. Allen's, she had made a plan, and after her father had picked them up—Shh, not a peep, your mother is sleeping—she had taken it away.
在艾伦太太家，她制定了一个计划。父亲把它们拿起来说：嘘，别偷看，你妈妈在睡觉。然后她拿走了食谱。
"Mama," she said into her mother’s hip now.
“妈妈，”她现在对着妈妈的臀部说。
"While you were gone. Your cookbook." She swallowed. "I—lost it."
她哽咽说：“你离开后，我把食谱弄丢了。”
"You did?" To her astonishment, Marilyn felt no anger. No: she felt pride.
“是吗?”令她惊讶的是，玛丽莲并没有生气，反而感到骄傲。
She pictured her daughter tossing the cookbook onto the grass and stomping it into the mud with her shiny Mary Janes and walking away. Tossing it into the lake. Setting it ablaze.
她想象着女儿把食谱扔到草地上，用她那闪闪发光的玛丽·珍妮丝踩进泥里，然后走开。想象着把它扔进湖里，用火烧它。
To her own surprise, she smiled.
令她吃惊的是，她笑了。
"Did you do that," she said, curling her arm around her small daughter, and Lydia hesitated, then nodded.
“是你干的吗?”她一面说，一面把小女儿搂在怀里。莉迪亚犹豫了一下，然后点了点头。
It was a sign, Marilyn decided. For her it was too late. But it wasn’t too late for Lydia.
玛丽琳断定这是一个征兆，虽然对她来说已经太迟了，但对莉迪亚来说还不算太晚。
Marilyn would not be like her own mother, shunting her daughter toward husband and house, a life spent safely behind a deadbolt.
玛丽琳不会像自己的母亲那样，把女儿托付给丈夫和家庭，在门栓后安然度过一生。
She would help Lydia do everything she was capable of.
她会帮助莉迪亚做她所能做的一切。
She would spend the rest of her years guiding Lydia, sheltering her, the way you tended a prize rose: helping it grow, propping it with stakes, arching each stem toward perfection.
她将用她的余生来指导玛丽琳，庇护她，就像照料一株珍贵的玫瑰那样：帮助它成长，用木桩支撑它，拱起每根茎来追求完美。
In Marilyn's belly, Hannah began to fidget and kick, but her mother could not yet feel it.
在玛丽琳的肚子里，汉娜坐立不安，开始踢腿，但她的母亲还没有感觉到。
She buried her nose in Lydia's hair and made silent promises.
她把鼻子埋在莉迪亚的头发里，做出了无声的承诺。
Never to tell her to sit up straight, to find a husband, to keep a house.
永远不要告诉她要坐直，不要告诉她要找个丈夫，不要告诉她要持家。
Never to suggest that there were jobs or lives or worlds not meant for her; never to let her hear doctor and think only man.
永远不要暗示有的工作、生活或世界并不适合她；永远不要让她听医生的话，或只想到男人。
To encourage her, for the rest of her life, to do more than her mother had.
在她的余生里，鼓励她比自己做得更多。
