Six Pairs of Thick Gray Socks Saved My White House on Elm Street

own kitchen floor without falling, Mother,” she said. Her voice had that high-pitched, hurried rush that always made me feel like I was standing in a draft.

“The floor is just cold, Brenda,” I said. I bent to pick up the largest piece, but my fingers felt thick and useless.

“It is more than the floor,” she said, her watch clicking again. “We need to continue reading …