Rory
Madison and I sat stiffly on the sofa in the parlor, across from where Mom sat wiping her swollen eyes with a tissue in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. A moment after wrapping us in her sobbing hug, Mom had sucked in a deep breath, then ushered us inside with a perky “Well, come in! And shut the door, you’ll let in the mosquitoes,” as though her sobs had never happened. She hadn’t said anything since.