31 Hours. Masha Hamilton

heard Mom. Memories do change.”

      “We can’t take them all on the subway, but we don’t need all. Just this one,” Mara lifted a black-and-white speckled rock, “and this,” choosing the one that looked like the partly eaten peach, “and this,” picking up the lopsided heart, cradling it in the palm of her hand.

      “Baby, I think it’s more complicated than that.”

      Mara knew it was complicated; of course she knew that. She thought about mentioning their mother’s reference to a Caribbean author to prove it. “There’s always a way to simplify,” Mara said. “Like the answer to a math problem. Right down to the prime numbers.”

      Vic smiled. She took Mara’s hand, and this time Mara let her. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you, still being at home.” Vic shook her head and added, almost as an aside, “Why couldn’t he wait, damnit?”

      “Mom can’t go on like this,” Mara said. She wanted to add, “I can’t,” but she didn’t.

      Vic rose and released a deep, sighing breath. “So talk to Dad if you want. Just don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t work, okay?”

      “But I thought—” Mara stopped. What she’d thought was that Vic would help her; she’d counted on it, assumed it didn’t even need to be said. She wouldn’t act like a baby about it, though. Lots of things she used to depend on were changing, and maybe that was what it meant to grow up.

      “You okay, angel?” Vic said

      “Hmm.” Mara nodded.

      Vic lifted one foot, grabbed her ankle behind her back, and stretched out her leg. “Already getting stiff,” she said, laughing softly. “It was one long rehearsal. I’m going home to take a shower and a rest. I’ll call, okay?”

      So, fine. Mara would do it alone. She could go tomorrow morning. She’d take the subway to Brooklyn early so she could be there before her dad went to work. If all went well, maybe he would drive her home and they could go into the apartment together. Her mom wouldn’t be happy that Mara had cut school, but she’d understand once it was all explained.

      “Hey, you in the fog. Plotting away, are you? Give me a hug good-bye, okay?” Vic pulled her close and bent so their heads were touching. “It’ll be all right,” she murmured.

      “I know.” Mara straightened, feeling the responsibility that came with seeing what had to be done. Vic was like their mom, wanting everyone to buck up, so Mara would have to be like their dad, bearing the Band-Aids. “I know.”

      Vic pulled away and ruffled her hair again. Mara hated the gesture for its implied meaning. But they would know, soon enough, that she was not a kid. She followed her sister into the living room and watched as Vic, with one last wave, closed the door firmly behind her, leaving Mara and her mother inside.