Chapter Eleven
“That’s my mom over there,” Lynn told Mark as he followed her into the kitchen.
Melinda Stone was a petite woman with short dark hair, setting cookies on a plate. Two other women stood with her, one on the chunky side, washing dishes, another making coffee. A slender older man was also there, leaning against the fridge. The energy in the room was one of death, despair, and grief.
Mark tucked his sunglasses in his shirtfront as he followed Lynn over to Melinda, who picked up the plate and spilled the cookies on the floor.
“Oh no!” she cried out.
“Mom, it’s okay. I’ll get it.” Lynn quickly leaned down to pick up the plate, and the other women helped Melinda up. Mark glanced around. Their faces were solemn, family and friends, he thought, just being there to support a love
