But then I realize, Ima wants me, she wants to know what’s really going on. Just like I wanted to know her story, the good, the bad, the ugly, the glorious.
“Shira, is that you?”
I head for the kitchen. Gone are the days of trying to escape to my room and getting annoyed at Bubby’s questions; I’m just so grateful to be back, to have her back to herself.
Well, not exactly back to herself. She still can’t get around easily, the aunts are always in and out helping, and there’s a physiotherapist who comes to the house every day. But she’s here, and smiling, and sitting in the kitchen with Zeidy, sipping tea… and strangely, it feels like home.
Almost like home, at least.
Zeidy’s reading a newspaper when I come in; he folds it up quickly and slips it onto his lap, out of sight. Well, that’s eager. I guess he wants to give me his full attention.
“There’s muffins on the side, Ashira. Chana sent them in with supper. We’ll eat later, so if you’re hungry, take a muffin or two. I think there are some cookies also, from yesterday.”
Create a free account to keep reading.
