Mark shoved the boxes over on the back seat to make room for the one he had carried from the house. The last one. Well, the last one for now, if he knew his mom. She was in clean-out mode and that meant days and days of opening boxes, examining every piece, every item in it, then deciding where it should go—back in the box to donate to Mrs. B’s consignment store, to the trash bag open on the floor, or on a shelf or counter to keep.
It all took an amazing and exhausting amount of time.
Every day that he helped Mom, he always went home and threw something of his own stuff away. Even if it was a piece of junk mail—he threw something away. If he didn’t find junk mail, he made himself open kitchen cupboards and find some odd dish or melted plastic bowl. If he didn’t find something in the kitc
