“Sorry,” Sher said, and sat on the mattress studying the cracks in the mortar because she did not want to invade the woman-girl -with-two-names space. She was taught to stay out of people’s space out of respect, but also especially when someone was unpredictable or mean like this.
“Up here,” Ethel would say, tapping her forefinger on her temple, not to be mean, but to let her children and grandchildren know things were different, perhaps the person would need to be treated with more care than another. Sher could see her grandmother clear as day—the tip of her finger pointing at her temple, the curls from the home perms her grandmother’s one remaining sister—the rest had moved off to Portland and Los Angeles—sometimes gave her when she wore her hair short springing from her head. For a rea
