touch the paper.
His gaze stayed fixed on the photograph of his mother.
“She knew?”
“By the time this report was completed, yes.”
“How long?”
Helen glanced at the date. “Thirty-seven days before she died.”
He leaned back slowly.
Thirty-seven days.
I imagined those weeks.
Mom making coffee.
Mom calling me to complain that the pharmacy had changed the shape of one of her pills.
Mom asking whether I thought the maple tree needed trimming.
Mom inviting Ethan for dinner.
All while knowing.
“Why didn’t she tell him?” I asked.