"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.
当我们坐在医院的走廊里等待父亲接受检查时，母亲说：“我一直为玛莎担心。我们把她留在院子里玩，也没有告诉她我们去哪里。真希望她不会正坐在什么地方哭泣呢。”
我擦干母亲脸颊上挂满的泪水，试图打消她的担心：“我就是玛莎，我就陪在您的身边啊。”
“不，你不是。”母亲回答说，“你不是我的小玛莎。”