I didn’t think about it again.
Not until the courthouse.
La Sra. Lockridge falleció pacíficamente ese septiembre a los noventa y cuatro.
Carlton me llamó temprano en la mañana.
“Elnora, Mother’s gone.”
I sat quietly with the telephone in my hand.
For twenty-six years, that woman had been part of my weekly life.
Now she was gone.
At the funeral, I sat near the back of the church.
Afterward, I returned to the farmhouse and helped prepare food for the guests.
I washed every dish.
Dried every cup.
Guarde cada plato de servir exactamente donde la Sra. A Lockridge le gustó.
Cuando terminé, eran casi las nueve.
Carlton found me in the kitchen.
“Elnora, could you come back tomorrow? We need help organizing Mother’s things.”
“Of course, Mr. Carlton.”
“Thank you.”
I drove home exhausted and heartbroken.
The following morning, I returned with packing supplies.
