This morning I stood barefoot in my garden, fingers in the soil. The dew was cold against my arches. I liked it. Reminded me I\u2019m still alive, still here, still watching.<\/p>\n
The vial of tea\u2014what I saved of it\u2014sat on my kitchen counter, sealed tight in a jelly jar. I\u2019d cleaned and labeled it like I do all my preserves: \u201cApril 12 \u2014 Suspicious.\u201d Just that. Laura would know what to do next.<\/p>\n
Out there in the early fog, I let myself remember. After James passed, Evan disappeared like a stone tossed in a river. One minute, we were side by side at the graveside\u2014his hand gripping my elbow tight enough to bruise\u2014and the next, he was gone. No visits. Not even a phone call after my hip surgery. Laura drove me both ways. Bless her.<\/p>\n
I tried not to take it personal. You know how men get, I told myself. Grief makes them quiet. Angry. But years went by and the silence never changed\u2014until last week, when he called out of the blue.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust wanted to check in on you, Ma,\u201d he said. \u201cThinking maybe I should come visit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I should have known then. Folks don\u2019t change that sudden unless they want something. And Evan never wanted anything that didn\u2019t benefit him.<\/p>\n
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