Mrs. Brittany snapped. “Come in and close it behind you.” I did so slowly and looked again at her granddaughter. She was smiling at me, and not the sort of smile someone who had come to hurt you wore. It wasn’t condescending or sly. It was soft, anticipating, making her look hungry to receive a smile back. I breathed some relief but still felt myself trembling inside, expecting trouble. “Hi again,” I said. “Hi. Oh, look at your hair. I might not have recognized you. Yes, I would,” she quickly corrected. “Oh, I never got a chance to tell you my name. It’s Sheena.” “Please be quiet for a few moments, Sheena,” Mrs. Brittany told her. She turned to me. “Sit,” she commanded, as if she were giving orders to a well-trained dog. She walked around her desk. Since she didn’t tell me where to sit, I sat next to Sheena, who looked delighted about it.
