We visit my mother and I am confused but happy. She feeds us tea and muffins. I hate she has to die some day. I love her the way the dogs loved me: deeply but carefully. Some things you have to get just right. But later it falls apart. Chrisoula brings a box of books down from the attic to sort and right away I start trembling. I run into the bathroom and throw up. I'm scared my dead father is angry because the only thing he said before he died was take care of your mother and you can see she's growing old. When I come back, the books are gone, I don't know where she put them. Chrisoula explains it patiently. My father didn't trust me, an error I do not have to repeat. We've been here before but we're not unhappy. It's late fall but not so late you have to think about winter. I go upstairs to take a nap, the neighbor's kid is blasting heavy metal stacking wood. I can't sleep, I love him so much.
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