“But I did not put that driver on the road. And I cannot die believing I killed her.”
David looked at her for a long time.
“I know, Mom. It was not your fault, and I want you to know that. I only blamed you to avoid dealing with my grief.”
David reached across the table.
Over the next two months, David stayed.
He drove Barbara to appointments, Anna cooked meals, Patterson handled the garden, and I took the silver SUV for washing because Barbara still hated dust on the hood.
Some mornings, David and Barbara sat in Emily’s room together.
Other mornings, the door remained closed.
