“Yes. She always crossed her legs and pretended to be a grown-up.”
I looked at my red shoes, which I had worn that day because I knew they reminded her of something familiar.
“She sounds like a wonderful little girl.”
Margaret smiled.
“She was.”
Then she looked at me carefully.
“Do you think I’ll ever see her again?”
My throat tightened.
I moved closer and took both her hands.
“Grandma, I’m right here.”
She stared at me.
For one terrifying second, I thought she had forgotten again.
Then she touched my cheek.
“Emmy?”
“Yes.”
She began to cry.
I held her while she wept, knowing that the memory might fade again before the day was over.
But for that moment, she knew me.
And I was there.
My adoptive mother eventually recovered enough to return home.
The fifty thousand dollars Richard had promised helped cover her treatment and gave me room to breathe financially for the first time in years.
