“Well, I’ve only done three shows, but I’ve sold twenty baskets.” That was a lie, and I felt horrible for telling it. I’d only done two shows and sold eleven baskets, but I had made over three hundred dollars, and I had an idea for how to make more.

I tried to sound casual and nonchalant. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d be interested in selling some of my baskets here in the store. I thought people would like them—like I said, I’ve done well at these craft shows—and we could split the profits.”

She paused and thought to herself. “How much do you sell them for?”

“Between twenty-five and thirty-five dollars. Sometimes fifty for the big ones.”

“I don’t pay unless they sell. And I would take 20 percent of the profits, whatever does sell.”

“And you would just let me know when to come up and replenish the stock.”

“What about orders? Could customers take orders?”

“Sure—I’d fill the orders in a week or less.”

“I like the idea,” she said pensively. “But I’d have to see some of these baskets first.”

“Well …” I pulled out a plastic bag from underneath Michael’s stroller.

“You’ve come prepared.”

“Of course.” I grinned, and she smiled back, winking at me.

I’d brought two baskets, one small and one large. The small one, the size of a dinner plate but deeper, was red and dark brown, with a braided pattern. The large one was as round as a pasta bowl, deep, and brown and beige in its pattern, with some gold thread weaved through to create a glinting reflection.

“These are stunning,” Anne said simply. “You have a deal.”

I had promised Baba not to stay away, and I did my best to keep it. On a late August day, I drove with Michael down to South Philly again, getting off the expressway and navigating carefully through the tight streets. Michael gurgled in the backseat, and I checked his face in the mirror I had posted on the back headrest. He had to face the rear, so that was the only way I could keep an eye on him. As I waited at a stop sign, I looked again. “We’re going to visit your grandpa, Michael. Your sido,” I said in my merriest voice. I saw my son’s reflection smile.

Baba was waiting for me at the front door as usual. When he saw me approach, he hurried out and waved at me to stop while he removed two chairs from the parking spot he’d saved. I laughed and gave him a thumbs-up sign while I parallel-parked smoothly into the space.

He hugged me tightly when I got out, and I couldn’t help noticing how thin his arms had become. I handed him Michael’s carseat to carry while I lugged the heavy kitchen chairs inside the house.