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“And your head, child? Is it still hurting?”
She just said no.
“Promise you'll tell me if it hurts again?”
“Plometo.”
I kissed him on the forehead and drove home.
Chapter two
I opened the door to the small apartment in Queens and put the key on a piece of furniture in the hallway. My shoulders felt so heavy that I moved them until they cracked and sighed with small relief.
“Helena...” a low, hoarse voice whispered from the living room, and I spotted my grandmother sitting in her usual armchair. She rarely left the place, and I had the feeling that she had already put down roots.
It had been just the two of us for so long that I couldn't remember if it had ever been any different.
My mother was the kind of woman who fit the definition of a problem girl. She got involved with the wrong men and had inappropriate affairs all the time. She got pregnant atsixteen and didn't even know who my father was, leaving my grandmother, a widowed woman with some motor difficulties, to look after me. I couldn't complain about that; she had done the best she could and everything I was, I owed to her love and care. My mother was always disappearing into the world, and when she returned, it was only to bring more trouble. It sounded awful on my part, but I preferred it when she was away to when I had to scrape together my savings to pay bail or get her out of trouble.
That day marked two months since I'd heard from her, but I wasn't worried. She'd been missing for longer, living with some guy in some corner of the country, but at some point, she always came back needing help.
“Hello, Grandma!” I leaned towards her and kissed her cheek.
“Hi, darling. You look tired.”
“I'm fine; I just need a shower.”
“How was your day?”
“Nothing different except for the fact that one of my students fell ill.”
“Oh, dear! What was wrong with her?”
“He complained of a headache and left with his father.”
“I hope she's all right.”
“Yes...”
“What happened?” I caught a hint in the air that there was something else I hadn't mentioned.
“She wanted me to go home with her, to look after her.”
“These children love you very much, but I bet their mother is taking good care of them now.”
“She doesn't have a mother.”
“What do you mean?” My grandmother frowned, wrinkling it even more as she processed the information I had thrown at her.
“Their mother died.”
“Theirs?”
“Yes, they're twins.”
“What a tragedy!”
“That's right.”