You’d think a death would change everything, but the sun still shone, and Carola still kept my kitchen spotless.
She stood filling her cup when I said, “I dreamed about him again last night.”
Her hand stopped in midpour. The teapot thumped on the oak table.
I added sugar and milk to my tea in an effort to ignore her steady stare.
“No, not again. Sometimes I long for the days when you were just the cleaning lady.” I picked up my cup with what I hoped was an air of finality.
Her back straightened. “I don’t care. I have to say it. Start living again. Robby’s been gone more than a year. Is this what he wanted for you—sadness and dreams? You’re letting him down.”
“No, I’m not.” Read the rest of this entry »