Why did he leave?
Why did Mom choose Naomi?
What had they been talking about in the kitchen all those years ago?
Suddenly there was no someday.
There was only a heart monitor slowing down.
Then silence.
The funeral was small.
Mom had been a middle school librarian for thirty-two years, so former students came carrying flowers and handwritten notes.
After everyone left, Naomi and I returned to the house.
The kitchen still smelled faintly like Mom’s cinnamon candles.
Her reading glasses were on the counter.
A half-finished crossword puzzle sat beside her chair.
I opened the refrigerator and started crying because there was a container of soup with my name on it.
Naomi hugged me.
We stood like that for several minutes.
Then she pulled away.
“There’s something I have to show you.”
I wiped my face.
“Not tonight.”
“It has to be tonight.”
Something about her voice made me look at her.
Naomi was pale.
“What?”
