She watched in paralyzed amazement as one tendril of ivy lifted and waved uncertainly in the afternoon breeze that gently wafted through the open window.
Mesmerized, she watched the tendril, the ivy arm, wrap itself around the stem of her wine glass. She blinked, thinking she'd simply imagined this magic, but then she saw the second tendril gently enfold the stem of the grapefruit seedling.
I'm dreaming this; this is not happening, were her first thoughts. Ivy's arm on the glass moved to caress her hand and she felt its tug. It wants some wine?
Slowly, so as not to damage Ivy's fragile arm, she moved the wine glass to Ivy's bed and tilted the glass until a few drops splattered into the soft soil.
Ivy guided her arm to the seedling, where a few more drops of wine were instantly absorbed and then, Ivy released her hand to hang, once again, over the window sill. The arm that caressed the seedling joined her sister arm in placid beauty.
Sybil raised the glass of wine to her own lips to complete the toast. We are family, now, she thought.
Or, was it Ivy's voice in her head?