My sister Chloe’s chair was empty.
I had called all three of them. I called my mother, Patricia Hobbes, at six in the morning the day Nathan collapsed. She picked up on the fourth ring and said, “Oh, Fay, that’s terrible.” Like I’d told her the car needed a new alternator. Then she said, “We’ll talk when you come home. Chloe has a fitting for her engagement continue reading …
