Nona reached out. She wrapped her arms around Hot Sauce. She whispered, “Hot Sauce, forgive me—forgive me so I can know what it feels like.” Hot Sauce was as still as a statue in Nona’s arms. Then she gently perambulated Nona toward the door—bumped her gently over the threshold—looked her dead in the face. “We’re cool,” she said, and, awkwardly: “I’ll always love you, Nona.” Nona found that huge tears were dripping out of her eyes, making it hard to see Hot Sauce.
