Kepler’s Dream by Juliet Bell Page A

made me feel I’d better leave that subject alone. For the moment.
    Getting back to my room was going to be nerve-racking. Night was starting to fall, and away from the fire the air was spooky and cold. I got Lou from the courtyard—he was all licky and glad to see me, the feeling was mutual—and with him by my side, and a flashlight in my hand, I was able to be brave. Having a stomach full of cake helped, too.
    Grandmother and I stood in the corridor hallway to say good night.
    â€œElla,” she blurted. She grabbed tightly onto one of my wrists. I felt the cool metal of her rings against my skin. “I am sorry about your mother’s illness. It is very distressing. I trust this treatment will help her get better. Please—” She hesitated. “Please send her my good wishes when you write to her. Now, good night.”
    And then she and Hildy hurried away before I could say anything but “OK—good night” to her red retreating back.
    This caught me off guard. It was almost disappointing that the GM had mentioned my mother at last. I couldn’t write her off anymore. Not as swiftly.
    This situation was confusing, and the only person I felt like talking to about it was my mom. She would get how weird this whole setup was, having dinner with my grandmother,
this
grandmother, for the first time in my life. Even though Mom and Dad had divorced a thousand years ago, back in the time of the dinosaurs, my mother obviously knew what Violet Von Stern was like. I remembered the look on her face when I told her that’s where I was going. Now I understood it.
    Back in my room I tried to call her at the Seattle hospital. One ring, two, three.
    I got her voice mail.
    Mom still sounded strong in the recording. It was from before she got sick. As I listened to her warm, familiar voice, I started twisting the new bracelet around my wrist.
    She had given it to me the last day I saw her. Mom told meshe had a graduation present for me, then reached over to her bedside table. The table was completely covered with cards from the hundred people who wanted her to get better (friends, neighbors, people at the optometry store where she worked), but somewhere in there she found a small box. She passed it to me with a shaking hand. I knew she wasn’t able to leave her room at that point; seeing my surprise she said sheepishly, “Nurse Rose got this for me downstairs. But it was my idea. Go ahead! Open it.”
    So I did. Inside was a (fake) gold bracelet with charms around it: a heart, a star, a bunny. It wasn’t my style, and was probably meant for a younger kid, but it didn’t matter.
    â€œThey don’t have a great selection in the gift shop here,” she apologized.
    â€œNo, it’s great!” I put it on. What did I care if it had a bunny on it and I was almost twelve? It was from her. “I’ll wear it all the time. Thanks, Mom.”
    Sitting in my grandmother’s weird, musty back bedroom, I touched the heart, star and bunny. I decided not to leave Mom a message. I wasn’t sure what to say, and besides, I worried that if I tried to, I might start crying, which wouldn’t help anyone.
    The only other person I could call was Auntie Irene, who answered, thank goodness. She said things were fine but that my mom wouldn’t be able to talk on the phone much for the next while, so writing letters would be best. But not to worry, it was all going according to plan and she had the best doctors and itwould all be fine. And not to worry. Auntie Irene probably told me about ten times not to worry.
    Which of course made me worry.
    â€œAnd how is your grandmother, Ella?” she asked. “Are you getting along?”
    â€œShe’s all right.” I didn’t see the point of telling Irene the truth—I didn’t want
her
to worry, either. Why go into all the details: no TV, no Internet—in fact, no technology at all from the past ten or