I dragged my suitcase to my parents' corner restaurant.
Late afternoon, the place was empty. My father was wiping down the bar. My mother was chopping vegetables in the back kitchen.
He saw the bandage on my arm. Then he saw the suitcase in my hand. His hands stopped.
"You used to go on and on about going to Africa to see the lions when you were little." He poured me a cup of hot water and slid it over. "Tickets booked?"
Tears splashed straight into the cup.
I tried to wipe them away with the back of my hand. They just kept coming.
My mother came out from the kitchen and gently dried my face.
"Go if you want to go." She patted the back of my hand. "This family can afford to take care of you."
Neither of them mentioned Arthur. Neither of them asked about my injury. They just brought
