I woke at the crack of dawn to some serious clanging outside. I toss back the shade to see this:
Ella, dressed in the same clothes we last saw her in, politely requests a hot breakfast of cakes and syrup, eggs over easy, grilled ham and sausage and grits.
"Ella, this is Carver. We have cream of wheat, not grits! But more importantly, where have you been?" I demand.
Ella pauses and then, "First I eat. Then I talk."