I remember that day more clearly than my times tables. We were in the attic bedroom of a foreigners' farmhouse and all I wanted to do was go home. Home. The word was a picture of a house in a book I'd read and we weren't going there. Her hands were heavy on my chest moving in slow circles, pushing the warmth down. The smell of Vapo-Rub and strange blankets terrified me. She had that look in her eyes again and I felt small and lost. Her voice quiet, firm. Dry heat from a dusty vent muffled her words. I could barely hear what she was saying but the tone made my body go cold.
She stood wiping her hands on a towel blocking the late winter light as she paused by the window. "Mommy's going up the mountain for awhile.