Brooklyn sat up without letting the couch springs make a sound.

She looked through the narrow opening beside the door frame.

A shadow moved across the yellow strip of light on the floor.

My mother walked briskly past the door, her gift bag clutched tightly against her ribs.

Brooklyn rubbed her left eye with the back of her hand.

She recognized the dark wool coat and the large gold button on the sleeve.

“Grandma?” Brooklyn whispered toward the hall.