“She told me what a period was and that she’d had hers for a year. I was horrified that such a thing would happen to me! I know you understand, Lulu. How scary it can be to have your body change when there is so much else around you changing too. There are always too many things happening at once, and it can be overwhelming, yes?”

I nod. I want to grow up, but sometimes I don’t like what that means. Gram was the one who showed me what to do when I first got my period. She told me it wasn’t something to be afraid of, and her no-nonsense, practical way of looking at it made it less scary.

“Yes, I see you understand,” Gram says with a smile. “When it finally happened to me, my mama showed me what to do and welcomed me to womanhood. But I didn’t want to be a woman. I didn’t want to have this happen every month, but Margaret said it would get easier. And since there was nothing to do about it anyway, I might as well accept it. Embrace it, even. But it was one more change in a sea of changes I didn’t ask for.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.

Gram reaches out and squeezes my hand. “But I loved American school! I loved how the teachers let us read any book we wanted. My favorite was Jane Eyre. She overcame so much and still hoped for love.”

“I love that book too,” I say. Gram was the one who bought it for me.

“Yes, I know you do. I’m happy that we have such similar tastes,” she says. “I loved exploring my school library and learning about anything I wanted to. It was glorious to have such freedom. I did worry that if I changed too much, Jacob might not recognize me when we finally reunited.”

“Or your dad?” I ask softly.

“Yes.” She smiles sadly. “I think I knew my papa would never leave Russia, but I still missed him. But eventually my mother remarried. My stepfather was the man who helped us get out of Russia.”

“Mark?”

“Yes, he was a very good man. He made Mama happy. But I worried if Papa ever heard about it, he might think I’d given up on him too.”

“Oh, Gram,” I say in a rush. “I’m sorry.”

She waves her hand like she does when I catch her watching TV shows that make her cry. “It is done. No reason to be sorry. I think it’s time for me to drive us home, yes?”