I was sitting quietly in my mother’s arms. I had not yet learned to walk or even stand. Had I been free, perhaps I would have crawled around the hospital floor, fitting items into my mouth. My mother gripped me tight.

The nurse, wearing baby-pink scrubs, entered from behind a closed door. “Grace?” she called. Her face was kind, free of lines and wrinkles, as though she were new to the job.

My parents stood, my mother propping me against her left hip, and headed toward the nurse. She held the door open, and I saw an empty hallway ahead. At that moment, lingering on the threshold between sickness and health, my tear ducts opened and I began to cry.

Chapter 2

My mother was a superstitious woman. One of my earliest memories was watching her from the back seat of our burgundy station wagon. We had stopped somewhere on our way home. My father climbed out of the driver’s seat and disappeared. My brother, William, was strapped in next to me. I reached for his hair, snatching a handful of soft white curls, and tugged. He squealed. I giggled. My mother looked over her shoulder. “Doll, leave your brother alone, please.”

She turned around and leaned forward, pulling off her slingbacks and setting her bare feet on the dash. The red nail polish on her toes glistened in the sun as she rotated her ankles.

A loud caw caw caw filled the car. My mother’s gaze followed a single crow that had landed next to us in the parking lot. Softly she began a sing-song:

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for a wedding

Four for a boy

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret, never to be told

Eight for a wish

Nine for a kiss

Ten for a surprise, be careful not to miss

Her delicate hand lingered in the air, and with one eye closed, her index finger drew an X through the bird as it drifted overhead.

“We don’t need any more bad luck, children,” she intoned, remaining fixed ahead.

I watched as the crow vanished from sight, heading for its nest in a grove of spruce.

Chapter 3

Once again, I found myself sitting in that tiny beige room. All these rooms are tiny and colourless. The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. A stranger sat opposite me, peering eagerly into my face. Behind him was a small window, a collection of grey industrial buildings beyond it. Minimal furniture occupied the space. We sat on knobbly upholstered chairs separated by a cumbersome cherrywood desk. The smell of stale coffee wafted from a pot, percolating on the edge. A brown so deep it was almost black.

How long has that coffee been sitting there? And who in their right mind would drink it?

The thought made my skin itch. My leg began tapping in an attempt to distract me from a barrage of incoherent thoughts. Who is this man? Is he married? Why doesn’t he have a wedding ring? What’s wrong with him? My head hurts. Did I drink any water today? Is it dehydration?