My mother’s Gypsy came to mind. Mama had tried to tell me how she had been lonely in her new world, an oddity to most people she met. She had been the Gypsy on the outskirts and now I was the same, never to be trusted or let in, scorned and cast out by my daughter and family. I watched Marina sleep, and I felt her love and her loneliness too. She would be as lonely as I had been without a mother or the father she loved. He had been a different man to her than the one I knew, and I realized one person could be many. My mother, brave and wise in my memory, was young and frail and worried to my
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