Shirley was studying the lawn outside her window when her daughter arrived.
“Good morning, Mom,” Janice said. “How are you?”
“I’m looking for my little boys. They were outside the window a little while ago. And I think they just came in here.”
Janice scanned the tiny room that Shirley shared with Mabel at the nursing room. What little boys?
She asked and Shirley laughed. “Can’t you see them? Sometimes they hide, I guess.”
Janice saw no signs of little boys. So she leaned down and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, leaning her cheek against Shirley’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, Mom.”
Shirley patted Janice’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze. And a second little squeeze.
“Bring him up here,” she said to Janice.
“Who?”
“My little boy. He’s behind me. Bring him up here. I want to see him.”
Janice glanced around again and then felt Shirley squeeze her hand again. “Mom, that’s my hand.”
“Your hand?” Shirley said. “Hmmm, I didn’t want your hand. I wanted my little boy’s hand.”
Janice sighed. ”Well, it was mine.”
Shirley leaned her head to one side. “I don’t mind your hand.” She patted it gently. “But you’ve messed up my story about my little boys.”
