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What time does your school bus arrive?” asks the only friend I have in the entire universe, who happens to own the noblest dog in our building.
    Mom can see the tears streaming down my cheeks, and it seems like this makes her sadder than ever. It’s like she’s ashamed and is asking me to forgive her, but she doesn’t have the strength to say a single word. I go over and hug her gently, so as not to hurt her.
    I dry my tears and run down to catch the bus. From the street I see Mr. Levin out on our balcony, making sure the driver picks me up. As I climb aboard and walk down the aisle to my seat, the other kids can tell I’ve been crying. I sit at the back, and the girl with braids in the row in front of me turns to look at me. I’m sure she thinks I’ve been punished because I’ve done something wrong: not finishing my homework, or cleaning my room, or eating my breakfast, or brushing my teeth before leaving the apartment.
    Today I find it impossible to concentrate in any of my classes. Luckily, the teachers don’t bother me with questions I can’t answer. I don’t know if Mom will have to spend some days in the hospital or if I’ll be able to live with Mr. Levin for a while.
    When I get home after school, my friend is out on the balcony again. I think this must mean Mom is in the hospital and that I will have to find somewhere else to stay.
    I get off the bus without saying good-bye to the driver, then waitnear the entrance to our building for a few minutes because I don’t want to go in. I notice the first green shoots of the Boston ivy covering the side of our building.
    I pick up the mail, like I do every day, then rush up the stairs. When I enter, Tramp runs over and starts licking me. I sit on the floor and stroke him for a while, trying to postpone having to go into the living room. When I finally do, I see Mr. Levin, now with Tramp at his feet, and Mom in her leather armchair next to the open balcony door. Both of them are smiling. Mom stands up and strides over to me.
    “It was nothing more than a scare,” she whispers in my ear so that Mr. Levin won’t hear. “I promise it won’t happen again, my girl.”
    It has been a long time since she called me “my girl.”
    She starts stroking my hair. I close my eyes and snuggle against her chest the way I used to when I was little, when I really had no idea what had happened to Dad and was still hoping he might appear, walking through the door at any moment. I take a deep breath: she smells of clean clothes and soap.
    I hug her, and we stay like that for several minutes. All of a sudden, the room seems enormous, and I feel dizzy. Don’t move, stay like this a little longer. Hold me until you’re tired and can’t hug me anymore. Tramp comes to lick my feet and wake me from my daydream, but when I open my eyes, I see Mom is standing up, smiling, with color in her cheeks. She is beautiful again.
    “Her blood pressure dropped too far. Everything will be fine,” says Mr. Levin. Mom thanks him, pulls away from me, and goes into the kitchen.
    “Now we’ll have dinner,” she announces, entering a place that’s been foreign to her for the last couple of years.
    The table has already been set: napkins, plates, silverware for three. The smell of salmon with capers and lemon wafts from the oven. Mom carries the dish to the table, and we start to eat.
    “Tomorrow we’ll go to a photo lab in Chelsea. I’ve called and arranged to see them.”
    This is what I need to hear to recover from today’s scare. I feel guilty somehow; I know that sometimes I’ve wished she wouldn’t wake up, that she’d never open her eyes again; just keep sleeping, free from pain. I don’t know how I could ask her to forgive me. But for now we’re going to find out who is in these photos. And I feel Mom is regaining control, or at least has more energy.
    I walk Mr. Levin back to his apartment. On the way, we run into a cranky neighbor who can’t stand the noblest dog in the