Saturday, March 31, 2012
Ma led her over to the sink and started washing her face, hands and arms the way a mother would wash a three-year-old. “My god, honey – you’re filthy. Let me dry you off. You sit there at the table and I’ll make some biscuits. Do you like homemade jam?”
Sonya smiled: “Who doesn’t?” And from that moment on, the quiet little thing became a regular jabber-box. She talked nonstop as she consumed about ten biscuits, a dozen slices of bacon and half a jar of Ma’s homemade jam.
