Chapter 46

Hank sat next to the bed, as he had for the past several days, as Lula drifted in and out of consciousness, pressing the little button that would administer more morphine regularly when she did stir.

Although he never dared let himself consciously think it, there was a deep knowledge, a certainty within him, that told him these were his mother’s last days. That’s why he hardly ever left her side. Indeed, it was why he practically never let go of her hand, small as a child’s.

He would think how fragile she looked propped up on the pillows, how the cancer had robbed her of the only currency she had ever been able to trade on: her looks. Now, she was a withered thing, a wraith. A shadow, as they say, of her former self.

On the last night of Lula Menninger’s life, Hank felt he had connected with his mother in a way much deeper than the touch of their two hands. Hank had been about to doze off when he awakened to find Lula looking at him, her eyes bright and clear.