8. Ella's Dance
Ella stared at the white alabaster urn the funeral director had given her. It was hard to believe that Grandma had become nothing more than a pile of white ashes. She longed to feel her grandma's thick arms around her and to smell her sweet perfume that hung in the air like an August fog. How does a cream-puff-of-a-lady become a bag of brittle bones? she wondered.