Mom hugs her, gently, and my dad holds her at arms’ length, looking her up and down as if he’s examining her for injuries. Maybe he is. I creep down the last few stairs and stare at her hard, as if I can figure out what happened just by reading it in the lines of her face, the wrinkles of her disheveled blouse. Auntie Mina looks up at me briefly. Her gaze is steely, and I feel a surge of hope. She says to my parents, “I don’t want to impose, but … ” “Don’t be silly,” my mom says. “Here—come sit and have a cup of tea. Of course we’ll help. Of course you can stay.” She slides an arm around Auntie Mina’s shoulders and steers her into the kitchen. My dad grabs the handle of the enormous suitcase. “Sunny,” he says, sighing. He lugs the suitcase inside and sets it in the front hallway. Frown lines crease the middle of his forehead as he glances at me distractedly. “Could you please check the guest room?
