“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
“Colin told me he’d be home for supper,” Ginnie said. “He was supposed to bring shwarma for us, and pastries from Baalbek.”
For a twelve-year-old, Ginnie sounded so mature. I couldn’t imagine calling my parents by their first names, as if they were my friends or roommates.
“I thought the Bekkaa Valley was off limits because of the war,” I said, remembering what Ghys had told us when Maman had proposed a trip to the Roman ruins at Baalbek.
Ginnie rolled the dice onto the Monopoly board. “I guess not. Colin says the war is his bread and butter.”
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