Shelter

She digs further. The pictures, they must be here somewhere.

Of course, they’re the very last things she pulls out. Two drawings, as close to identical as the twins themselves. She’d drawn them, one for David, one for Aaron, when they were five or six.

A lifelike portrait of Mickey Mouse shaking lulav and esrog beams up at her from each page. She remembers how excited they had been at her artwork, how the two of them had sat for the better part of an hour painstakingly shading in the black-and-white drawing, so intent on making the pictures “match” that the process took double as long.

They belong right in the middle of the wall opposite her painting, between the two windows.