A sigh.

She puts down the pen and pushes out her chair. She holds out a hand to me, waiting. I’ve been anticipating seeing her all day, so of course I take the hand and she leads me down the hall to her bedroom. She stands in the doorway and she motions toward the floor.

“Sit, sit.” she says. And I do.

She goes to the bookshelf and picks out an old book, spine broken several times over, and fixed with yellowing tape. She comes back and sits down in my lap.

“Moon,” she says, pointing.

“Yes, Sunshine. That’s the moon.”