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that if a warrior could injure Sisiutl and take some of the monster’s blood and rub it on his skin, the blood would make the warrior’s skin so strong that no enemy’s weapons could pierce it.” She rubbed the juice on my arm. “So many warriors tried in vain to get some of Sisiutl’s blood. And so many men died trying.” She removed the mask and looked at me with kind, caring eyes. “Great warriors never stop trying.”
    With her strange hair and knowing eyes, Nana made us believe almost anything. She would often watch me during her storytelling and sometimes I wondered if she was trying to tell me something.
    Now I know she was.
     
    One morning in August, I was surprised to find my mother waiting for me outside on the deck. On the picnic table beside her was a basket filled with fruit and muffins that she had made the night before.
    “ I’ve decided to come with you today,” she announced. “To meet Goldie’s grandmother.”
    Nana had been asking about my mother and I desperately wanted them to meet. My parents had already met Goldie. My mother liked her so much that she often asked my friend if she wanted to stay for a sleepover. Goldie never refused. And she never said no to dinner at my house either. She loved my mother’s Italian cooking.
    I pointed at the basket. “Is that for Nana?”
    “ I wanted to bring her something,” my mother said, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “But I don’t know if she likes lemon muffins. What do you think, Sarah?”
    “ I think she’ll love them.”
    We set off down the path and followed the beach around the bend. We passed the boat dock where a small outboard was moored, then the Dixon’s house came into view. The house seemed unusually silent, almost abandoned. Outside, some of Shonda’s toys were scattered in the grass and a half-woven basket sat on a table next to a lawn chair. Hanging from a tree, a wind chime tinkled merrily in the soft breeze.
    I knocked on the door. “Is anyone here?”
    No answer.
    I stepped inside.
    “ Sarah,” my mother admonished.
    “ They told me to walk right in,” I said. “Sometimes they go for walks in the woods.”
    I looked around the room. On the floor near the rocking chair sat a laundry basket. It was piled high with freshly laundered clothes, a few folded shirts nearby. In the kitchen, something fragrant was brewing in a pot on top of the stove.
    “ Goldie!” I yelled. “Where are you?”
    My mother flinched at the sound of my loud voice.
    “ Their door is never closed to friends,” I said, grinning. “Nana told me that. Can we wait for them?”
    “ I guess so.”
    It was obvious that she was more than a little uncomfortable about walking into a stranger’s home before being invited in.
    “ It’s an interesting house,” she said, admiring the colorful Indian artwork and black argillite carvings.
    The Dixon house was made of cedar, inside and out. It was small compared to our house. There were three bedrooms upstairs. Goldie’s parents had the largest one, Goldie and Shonda shared a room and then there was Nana’s. There was also the small loft area just off the upper hall, where Goldie and I slept when I came over for a sleepover.
    The furniture in the living room on the lower floor was old and worn, but very comfortable. A large woven rug in rich amber and forest-green tones covered most of the floor between the couch and the fireplace. There was a simple kitchen with a table and six chairs crammed into one corner. Copper pots and pans decorated the kitchen walls and bunches of freshly picked herbs wrapped with twine hung on hooks to dry.
    “ I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” I said anxiously.
    My mother glanced at her watch. “We’ll wait just a few more minutes.”
    We sat down at the kitchen table and I stared at the clock on the wall.
    Ten minutes passed. Then we heard voices and footsteps.
    “ Sarah?” Nana called from outside. “Are you in there, child?”
    Goldie, Shonda and Nana