Dario had met her. He and Willa didn’t have a place to send her. She came back here and somehow lived until she died.

Are You My Mother?

No, Grandma, you are not.

Does she know Mom ran away? Is that why she was so angry?

She places the repair box in front of an empty seat and comes to me, fingers spread, hands low to take mine, not held high for an embrace.

“Sarah!” Her voice is gentle in intent, but scratchy as a metal spoon on an iron pan. She takes my hands in hers, curling paper skin against the webs between my fingers. “You seem tired.”

The first words out of her mouth are a test. Is her granddaughter a self-involved child, or a grown woman who would walk over broken glass to do her duty?

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t tell me Massimo was injured.”

I shot him, Grandma, and I’ll do it again.

She’ll never ask me how it happened. That’s not her place, and if there’s one thing Grandma knows, it’s everyone’s place.

One thing I know? How to pretend I’m frightened of my own shadow.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Well, you look just fine!” she says.

And how dare I come home with my brother broken like that. I should have at least a limb missing.

“Thank you.”

“My aunt said Massimo walked out of the clinic this morning and came right here.” Amara’s eyes are wide with awe, her face filled with the religious zeal of infatuation. “Like it was nothing.”

The women around the table are looking at me expectantly, but I admit nothing and tell no stories. I pull my hands away from Grandma’s and greet each woman with a tepidly appropriate kiss.

“Your old seat is ready.” Grandma pats the back of the chair. “How about a few repairs? You were always so good at that.”

I wasn’t. I hated it. I wanted to do embroidery and decoration like Mom with her cherries. I wanted to make things beautiful, but Grandma always sat me at repairs where I wanted to die of boredom.

I look out the window I always daydreamed through. What were in all the stores? In the hallways beyond the doors? At the other end of the street? Danger. Fear. But what kind? Who would I be if I was down there?

Standing in front of the radiator now, with 14th Street below me, the view creates more yearning than curiosity. Those spaces should be accessible. The answers are within reach. The people are not scary… except that guy. The one with his arm in a sling, looking up at me as if he knows me.

Connor.

It’s Connor.

My breath stops. My ears thrum. Blood rushes to my feet and hands.

He looks away.

“Sarah?” Ginny says, shocking my system back to reality. “You all right?”

“I was just thinking about how glad I am to be in here and not out there.” I smile like a docile little lamb and sit.