"Where did you learn to take over a kitchen like this？" my mother asked as I fixed dinner that night."It' s nice of you to come and stay with me. Do you have a family？" Having been accepted as a companion， if not a daughter， I settled into an amicable routine with my mother.
Friday morning we went to the hairdresser， the chiropractor， and the grocery store. I overheard Lynne， the hairdresser， say to my mother， "It' s nice that your daughter could come to stay with you."
"That' s not my daughter." my mother confided， "she has the same name， but she' s not my daughter." Lynne looked quickly at me to see if she had misunderstood one of us， and I gave her a rueful smile.
On the way home my mother said， "Lynne thought you were my daughter."
"You don' t mind， do you？" I asked.
"No." she said.
It wasn' t until my brother came on Saturday that I was recognized as part of the family. "Bob will take this bed， and you can sleep in your old room." my mother said that night. It felt good to be legitimate again.
"You see，" my father said the next day， "Martha has been here all the time. There was no need to worry."
"But there was a note！" my mother wailed.
"I wrote the note，" I explained. "I wrote it to calm you when you were so anxious，" and comprehension flickered for a moment in my mother' s gradually dimming eyes.
當我們坐在醫院的走廊裏等待父親接受檢查時，母親說：“我一直為瑪莎擔心。我們把她留在院子裏玩，也沒有告訴她我們去哪裏。真希望她不會正坐在什麽地方哭泣呢。”
我擦幹母親臉頰上掛滿的淚水，試圖打消她的擔心：“我就是瑪莎，我就陪在您的身邊啊。”
“不，你不是。”母親回答說，“你不是我的小瑪莎。”