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gets here?”
    â€œI’ll do them later,” said Aunt Claudia. “I want to talk to you—about a letter I had today.”

    â€œFrom my mother?” asked Sarah Ida.
    â€œFrom your father. He wants you to come home.”
    â€œI’m not going,” said Sarah Ida.
    â€œIt’s not long till school starts,” said Aunt Claudia. “You’ll be going then, anyway.”
    â€œI can go to school here,” said Sarah Ida, “and after school and on weekends I can help Al.”
    â€œYour mother and father haven’t been writing you all that happened at home,” said Aunt Claudia. “They didn’t want to worry you. But they need you.”
    â€œThey never needed me before.”
    â€œThat isn’t true. And they need you more now. Your mother is ill. She’s going to have to be away for a while—maybe a long time. She’ll be in a hospital not far from home. You can see her every day. She and your father want you with them.”
    â€œDid they say that?” asked Sarah Ida.
    â€œYes. At a time like this they think the family should be together. And you can make things easier for them. In a way, you’ll be making a home for your father. When you first came here, I’d have said you wouldn’t be able to do it. Now I think you can.”
    Rossi came. She had brought a big cardboard box. “I got a kit,” she said. “It’s to make a lampshade. It looks like colored glass, only it isn’t really. I thought we could put it together.”
    They went up to Sarah Ida’s room. They sat on the floor and spread the pieces of colored plastic out on newspapers.
    â€œIsn’t this fun?” said Rossi, as they cut and glued.
    â€œYes,” said Sarah Ida.
    â€œYou’re awfully quiet,” said Rossi.
    â€œI’m thinking,” said Sarah Ida.
    They finished the lampshade. Rossi held it up and let the light shine through it. “Isn’t it pretty? It would look good here. Why don’t I give it to you, and you can put it on that little lamp?”
    â€œNo, it’s yours,” said Sarah Ida. “Anyway, I may not be here much longer.”

The Package
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    She and Al talked about it. After work the next afternoon they had chocolate cones at Pearl’s Ice Cream Shack, and she told him about her father’s letter.
    â€œI have to go, don’t I?” she said.
    â€œLooks like it,” he said. “Maybe you don’t want to, but if you do go, you’ll feel better in after years.”
    It made her feel sad to hear him say “in after years.” She said, “You never know what’s going to happen, do you?”
    â€œThat’s right. You never know. All you can do is try to be ready for whatever does happen.”
    â€œWhat if I go on Monday? That way I could help you through the weekend.”
    â€œMonday would be fine.”
    â€œI hate to leave when you’re just out of the hospital—”
    â€œI’ll get along.”
    â€œMaybe you can find someone to help you. Someone like Kicker.”
    â€œMaybe. I think he’d like to work for me now. He saw what a good thing you made of it. But I’m in no hurry to find anyone.”
    There was something she had to ask, even though she did feel foolish. “That apron you got for me to wear— Could I—could I have it?”
    â€œIt’s a dirty old apron now. What do you want it for?”
    â€œI just want it.”
    He didn’t say yes or no, but after her last day at Shoeshine Corner, he said, “Roll up your apron and take it with you, if you want it.”
    On Monday morning Sarah Ida packed her things, and Aunt Claudia took her to the station. Rossi came along in the taxi. “You’ll be riding all day,” she said. “I made you some cupcakes so you won’t get hungry.”
    They waited for the train. All at once, Sarah Ida looked up, and Al was