The garage smelled of detergent, motor oil, and the faint earthy odor that always seemed to follow her home from the freight yard.
Bennett Freight transported everything from commercial appliances to agricultural supplies. One of our oldest customers operated a livestock-feed cooperative, and Mom still visited its loading facilities occasionally.
On the morning of my wedding, she’d stopped by to help resolve a delayed delivery before getting dressed.
She’d told me about it while we waited for the ceremony to begin.
I’d laughed and asked whether she ever took a day off.
She said the farmers couldn’t tell their animals to wait until Monday.
Now I wondered whether Ashley had noticed a trace of that smell on Mom’s clothes.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
The cruelty had been deliberate.
“Mom?”
She turned.
“Nathan.”
Then she smiled.
The same smile she’d given me when I was five and came home crying because another boy had stolen my lunch money.
“Have you eaten?”
I almost laughed.
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I had something earlier.”
She set the cloth aside.
“Come inside. I’ll make sandwiches.”
I followed her to the kitchen.
Everything looked the same.
The yellow curtains.
The scratched wooden table.
Dad’s old calendar hanging beside the refrigerator, still turned to the month when he died.
Mom had never taken it down.
She said she liked seeing his handwriting.
We sat opposite each other.
She placed a sandwich in front of me, then poured two glasses of iced tea.
