EGGS

Polly

My head hurt. It was like the ghost of a headache: a faint throbbing behind my eyes. It reminded me of something. I closed my eyes for a moment.

Eggs. It reminded me of eggs.

Rose

My father looked up at the sound of my voice.

“Rosie?” he said, frowning. “Is that you?” He peered at me.

The desk lamp made a little island of light around him, but the rest of the room was in shadows.

“Winnie?” he whispered. “Rose?” He passed his hand over his forehead. “For a moment I thought …”

Now even he couldn’t tell the difference.

I stood in front of him, the box held tight to my chest. I felt like I did when I was little, before I learned how to talk. I opened my mouth but no sound came.

My father waited, looking at me.

I felt as if I was standing at the edge of a cliff and my father was far away, on the other side of the gulf. How was I going to get to him, except by jumping?