“Doing what?”
“Nothing at all.”
She laughed so hard she had to wipe her eyes again.
And that, I thought, was how things were supposed to be.
Not perfect. Not without misunderstandings. Not without the occasional hurt.
Just honest.
Two years later, when Sadie started school, she drew a picture of our family for a class assignment.
There was a large house with a red roof, a smaller white house beside an enormous elevator, and four people holding hands between them.
Her teacher sent the drawing home in a folder.
Michelle brought it to me that evening.
“Sadie says this is everybody’s house,” she explained. “She says you live in your little house, we live in ours, and nobody has to move unless they want to.”
I studied the picture for a long time.
Then I pinned it above my kitchen table, just beside the window where my African violets grew.
