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"I'm sorry." Alain threw up his hands. One of the hands landed on Eli's neck. II. free Eli had been hiding in the finger-like shadows of the vines that crept up the trellis of his mother's house. A garden hose curled up at his free feet as if asleep. Moths free flitted against the wildflowers that grew between the cracks in the cement path, which threatened to split open. Upstairs, behind the purple windows, Michael was waiting for him. A miracle. Eli suddenly resented his cousin for transforming his own mother's house into a place as foreign and dangerous as a field in Lebanon. Still, he enjoyed the climb up the trellis, his sandals scraping the stucco walls, silvery in the moonlight. His mother had caught him at it once and warned him never again.
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