ama hung up the phone and called my name, “Sara?”
At 10 years old, I come running when mama calls my name. As the middle child, I have a bossy older sister and a whiny six-year-old sister. Despite my efforts to keep everyone happy, it rarely works out. I ran into the living room so fast; I felt my feet slipping on the freshly waxed hardwood floors. Pushing dark bangs out of my face, I answered, “Yes, Mama?”
“Your Aunt Meg asked us to come for a vi...