g the pendant between her thumb and forefinger until the chain left a faint impression on her skin. Kofi began to appear in the margins of her days like a punctuation

fternoon as they sat on the low wall outside the market. He had propped a spa

, barely enough to be count

ct sense. "Take care of it," he said.

lled of cinnamon. She did not ask where Kofi had found the necklace; sometimes knowledge asks too much, and hope keeps secret

e whispered into the dark: May I have courage, may I not be seen, may I be liked. But little unusual things began to thread through the ordinary: a neighbor who had once mocked her now paused and found himself apol

teady, moving through flour and light. When she reached for the shawl in the dream, it was a translucent thing, like smoke shaped

ck of something particular. "I dreamed of her," she told him, and th

that help us come from unlikely places,"

. It felt like violating a vow to speak of it with others. The pendant looked unremarkable close up: smoky glass set in a small si

the ragged edges of her breath. For the first time in years, fear retreated like a tide. She could not explain it and did not yet want to. Instead, she folded that steadiness into

mbarrassed for reasons they could not locate. Aunt Maame, who had been frugal to the edge of meanness, left an extra mango in the pot one

gift. It held edges, and with edges come rules, eve