Chapter 65

“I’m only trying to help,” I told her.

“I know. I know.” She filled the two mugs, dunked the tea bags in the hot water, and headed for the living room.

I reached across the kitchen island for the plate of cookies. “Mom, do you remember Aunt Betty’s wake?” I asked, the image of my dreams resurfacing.

She turned, startled. “Aunt Betty? Goodness, Chris, that was decades ago. What made you think of Aunt Betty?”

We sat in our usual spots, me in Dad’s chair, Mom on the sofa, miles apart from each other. “I had a dream about her before I came here,” I said.

She reached for a half dollar-sized cookie. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. It was almost as if our life was starting all over. I saw you and Dad, and a bunch of Dad’s friends. Uncle Willy was there.”

My mother smiled, looked away, as if something I said was amusing.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Now that you mention it, I remember the incident like it was yesterday.”