“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
It wasn’t that I’d had such a great time with Ginnie. But I was sure the next time would be better. We’d watch movies and maybe even invite some boys from Grade Seven or Eight.
I had set up my stamp collection on the dining room table and was sorting through the fresh pile of stamps Daddy had brought me from the UN headquarters when the phone rang. It was the sound I’d been longing to hear all morning at Ginnie’s. It sliced through the French news commentary babbling from Ghyslain’s radio.
Maman checked her watch and ran to answer. Late afternoon in Beirut meant mid-morning in Quebec when her parents usually called.
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