Julia put the cake with its seven candles on the table. Libbie stood staring into the flames. Her eyes were much like her grandmother’s and her uncle’s.

‘Blow, kiddie,’ said Harkavy. ‘Once, that’s luckiest.’

But Libbie reached out and tried to capture a drop of the melting wax.

‘Libbie, dear…’ her father urged.

‘People are waiting,’ Julia said impatiently. ‘Would you rather be hanging upside down in the closet?’

The child lowered her face to the clear ring of candles. Leventhal saw the liquid image of them in her eyes and on her white forehead. She blew, and the whitish, odorous wax smoke drifted over the table. The guests clapped and cried out.

‘Sweet little kid,’ said Harkavy to Leventhal, who nodded and still gazed heavy eyed at the candles. Julia and her grandmother kissed the girl.