Handkerchiefs. When she died, I kept her sewing basket, and I kept embroidering violets the way she taught me. Three petals up. Two petals down. A little curl at the bottom of the stem.
I didn’t realize I’d drawn it until it was done.
I almost started over. Then I didn’t. It was just a little flower. Nobody would ever notice.
I mailed the card to my sister Denise in Tucson. I put a little note inside the envelope. “Please mail this as soon as you get it. Don’t ask questions. I’ll explain later.” Denise mailed it the next morning.
She didn’t ask questions. She never has.
Five days later, Hannah came running into the kitchen so fast she slid on the floor in her socks.
“Laura! Laura! It came! It came!”
She was holding the pink envelope over her head like a trophy. Her face was glowing.
