Cassie pulled her hand back, her voice flat. “Did you tell him my husband is dead?”
Anna’s expression softened. “In nicer terms, yes. He said he was really sorry to hear that, and if there was anything he could do to help as you settle in, to let him know.”
“Well, isn’t he the perfect neighbor,” Cassie grumbled.
“You don’t have to get snippy.” Anna put her hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to let you know that we don’t have to worry about him like we were.”
Cassie frowned. “I’m not so easily convinced.”
“About what?” Bobby asked as she came into the kitchen. Her hair was rumpled, and her eyes sleepy. She lowered herself into the chair and scooted toward the table.
“Nothing,” Cassie said. “Do you want something to eat?”
Bobby didn’t respond. Her gaze had locked on Birdie’s drawing, still sitting on the table. Her face paled, and she put her knobby left hand to her chest. “What’s this?”
“Birdie drew it earlier,” Anna said. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Birdie, who had ignored Cassie’s request to lay down and snuck back into the kitchen, clutched at Bobby’s arm. She pointed at one of the girls in the drawing, then pointed at Bobby. Bobby’s head snapped around to stare at Birdie, then jerked back toward the picture.
Birdie’s smile wavered as Bobby’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked at Cassie.
Cassie swallowed the reprimand for Birdie about not staying in bed and rushed over and took the drawing. “It’s lovely, Birdie. I think Bobby’s just not feeling well right now.”
Bobby patted Birdie’s hand, then pushed herself up out of the chair. “Yes, it’s very good. I think I’m going to sit on the patio for a bit. Get some fresh air.” She shuffled to the back door.
Cassie exchanged a worried glance with her mother as she waited for Bobby to get out of earshot. “We should go after her.”
Anna waved a hand. “Go ahead.”
“Me?” Cassie raised her eyebrows.
“We always end up fighting. Maybe she’ll open up to you more.”
“Doubt it,” Cassie said, but she pulled open the glass door and poked her head out into the warm spring air. The scent of dirt and new life filled Cassie’s nose as she inhaled. “It’s nice out here today,” she commented, trying to break the ice. “I love the smell of spring.”
Bobby pulled an old leatherbound book out of her housecoat pocket, ignoring Cassie.
“What’s that?” Cassie tried to control her excitement at seeing the journal from Bobby’s nightstand again. She slid into the chair next to her grandmother.
Bobby stroked the scuffed cover and spoke slowly, as if the words pained her. “This is me. Or who I once was.”
It’s hers! Goosebumps rose on Cassie’s arms, and she stilled, afraid to break the trance Bobby seemed to be under.
“I thought if I waited long enough, it would be easier to go back.” Bobby opened the book, and an anguished sigh escaped her lips.
Cassie leaned closer and peered down at the crowded writing. She couldn’t read the Ukrainian words, but her hands itched to grab the book so she could finally touch a tangible part of Bobby’s elusive past.
Bobby’s fingers trembled as they made contact with the page, and she closed her eyes. “I told him I would.”
“Would what?” Cassie said. “Told who?”
“But I can’t. I can’t do it.” She closed the book and shoved it back into her housecoat pocket. Cassie cringed at the lost opportunity, but as the book slipped away, a picture slid out and floated to the floor.
Cassie let it fall without comment, afraid that if Bobby noticed it, she’d tuck it away with the book and she’d never see it again. She promised herself she’d return it to Bobby after she had the chance to look at it.
Bobby glanced up toward the big mulberry tree in her backyard. “Do you see that owl?”
Cassie followed Bobby’s gaze to where a large brown owl perched on the branches of the tree.
“Isn’t it strange to see one out during the day?” Cassie asked, trying to keep up with the odd turn in the conversation.
Bobby tightened her lips. “It’s a sign. It’s waiting for me to die.”
Cassie gaped at her. “Don’t say things like that!”
The owl hooted and flew away, as if admitting its complicity in Bobby’s death.
Bobby waved away Cassie’s words. “Young people today don’t remember the stories. Last week, a sparrow flew into my bedroom window.”