A cool autumn evening, and the family gather around the fire.
Mitch has reverted to ‘knitting mode’. The worst of previously brutal bruising and swelling has faded and she’s all but lost the slurring in her speech. But still, it will be some while yet before she can look in a mirror and see her own true face.
Occasionally, I see her staring into the distance, But we’ve all learned that the best cure for that is Cara. She’s old enough to understand that Gammy Mitch is sad.
So now, Mitch works on her latest project, her needles click-clicking over something in primrose yellow. By her armchair, the Bag-of-Holding-All-Things bulges, spilling yarn in bird-blue, cotton-candy-pink and apple-green.
click-clickingThe beneficiary of said project shares the couch with Charlotte and Michael, the
