Two hours later, Rose and her grandmother sat in the greenhouse, silently eating their dinner after sowing the last of the winter herbs.

“Try a little of this mint on top of your General Tso’s chicken,” Rosalinda said as she crumbled two leaves from the seedlings she had just thinned in a tray.

“I’m not having General Tso’s, Gran. Remember?”

“I don’t remember much, dear.”

“I’m having fung yung three treasures with shrimp.”

“Oh!”

“You remember more than you think, Gran, especially when you’re here in the greenhouse.”

“So have you thought about Halloween? It’s coming up. Any plans?”

“See, you do remember, Gran.”

“I’m looking over there at those sweet peas. I know that in the greenhouse they always bloom right on or a few days after Halloween. So nice after all those pungent smells of autumn and before all the evergreen-y smells of the holiday season. Just a whiff of summer to remind us that it will come round again.”

As she poked at her shrimp with her chopsticks, Rose felt her grandmother’s eyes settle on her. She looked up. Gran had a way of tilting her head sometimes when she focused on someone, and it was as if she was coming out of a mist of shredded memories and thoughts. One could imagine a sun breaking through her mind after days of fog, and almost see the remnant dewdrops evaporating in the light. A new clarity dawning.

“So, Rose, what might you go as for Halloween?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe something sci-fi.”

“Sci-fi? What’s that?”

“You know, science fiction, like Star Wars . . . Princess Leia.”

“Princess Leia . . . never heard of her. Why not a real princess or queen . . . ?” Rose felt a small jolt, as if her heart had skipped a beat. “There have been so many real ones.” Gran spoke softly and tipped her head again. A loop of her hair fell down. She picked up a chopstick she had just eaten with and poked it in her hair.

“Oh no, Gran, don’t do that. It’s not sanitary.”

“What’s not sanitary?”

“The chopstick. You just ate off it and there’s glop from General Tso’s . . .” Rose’s voice dwindled. She saw her grandmother’s eyes clouding over again. It was as if Rosalinda were dissolving in front of her.

Betty arrived at the same moment.

“Did you enjoy your chicken, Mrs. A?”

Her grandmother said nothing.

“Betty,” Rose whispered, “she just stuck a chopstick in her hair. It had General Tso’s sauce on it.”

“She does that sometimes.” Betty looked down at the chopstick now sticking out of the piled hair. “Oh dear. I see a noodle. Well, I can get that out. No problem.”

Betty began to lead her away.

“Good night, Gran.”

“Good night . . .” Her grandmother paused. A look of confusion swept through her eyes. “Catherine?”

“No, Rose, Mrs. A. Rose.”

“Catherine, Gran? What Catherine?” Rose asked.