He\u2019d barely hugged me when he walked in this morning. Just brushed the screen door aside like it was his house. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be out here alone,\u201d he said, glancing around my tidy porch with all its potted ferns. Like he was scouting the place. Like he wasn\u2019t born in it.<\/p>\n
So now here he was with herbal tea and soft concern, calling me \u201cMa\u201d more times than I\u2019d heard since Clinton was president. And I, fool that I\u2019ve been, nodded and said, \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
But I didn\u2019t drink. I reached for it with my left hand\u2014arthritis twisting my knuckles like stubborn roots\u2014while my right hand slipped beneath the table, opening the old velvet pouch I used for heirloom seeds. I tilted the cup just enough to pour some inside. The pouch was lined. Laura gave it to me for collecting precious things. She\u2019ll get a kick out of this one.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look good, Ma,\u201d Evan said. \u201cFor seventy\u2011eight, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n
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