I watch as she delicately ties an apron around her waist. She’s singing a beautiful Italian melody. She catches me as I admire her from the corner. I dart my eyes, ashamed that I was caught staring. But she smiles and sings louder as she shimmies her way to me. I can’t fight the smile as it consumes my face. She grabs my hands and swings them left, then right, then grabs me close and sweeps me off my feet. We whirl around the kitchen, singing and dancing, my messy morning hair sweeping my face. I don’t know the words, but I “la la la” my way through the song with her. My heart is happy. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I tilt my head back and the giggles let themselves out.
The Bridgeway seems longer than the courtyard stories suggested. He sees her in the distance. Frail, grey-haired and wheelchair bound. She came.