After a week at home, Mom and Mema finally let me off bed rest. They help get me back in my wheelchair, and I take a slow tour of the trailer. It is sweet freedom to roll down these halls and into the kitchen.

My arms are shaking by the time I get there, but I let the kitchen fill me with its yellow glow. It feels like the first time I’ve breathed since the pneumonia.

I’m digging in the fridge for lemons when Mom walks in and leans against the counter.

“What are you making?”

“Lemon poppy seed scones.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“I wanted something springy, and lemon is Grandpa’s favorite.”

“I think they’ll be a hit, but you might want to tell him they’re biscuits. I don’t think he’s heard the word ‘scone’ in his life.”

“Thanks for the info.” I shut the fridge hard and the lemons roll off my lap.

Mom sighs and picks them up.

“Ellie, we need to talk.”

“Then talk.” I know I’m being rude, but I don’t care.

I start sifting the flour and sugar together.

“You’re not going to look at me?”

“I’ve got work to do.” I’m making up a lemon custard in my head—thinking about that for the Bake-Off, thinking about anything but this conversation. May feels so close and I need to focus.

“We came here to help out with your grandpa, because that’s what families do. But, Ellie”—she stops my hand from mixing, takes the bowl, and kneels down in front of me—“you have to understand something. You are my first priority. I have never been so scared in my life as I was when they called me from the ambulance. You weren’t conscious, honey. You were barely breathing. I can’t lose you, Ellie. I can’t.”

Now she’s crying into my lap like a little kid, which makes me start too, because everything makes me cry these days. I wipe my nose on the dish towel and hand it to her, and she does the same. Something cracks in me and I know I can’t win this. Nobody fights fair when it’s family.

“What about Grandpa?”

“We’ll come back in the summer. See how things are. There’s no rush to make any decisions about his care yet.”

I nod into her shoulder.

“It’s not forever. It’s just for now.”

She leans back and we both just sit.

“If I might interrupt this Hallmark moment,” Mema says, coming in from the living room, “you have a visitor.”

Coralee walks in wearing a puffy gold ball gown. She has to turn sideways to get through the door.

“Let’s take this out on the porch,” Coralee says after Mom and Mema leave.

“Take what out on the porch?”