THERE IS A patch of dirt where the grass never fully grew in because that’s where we always set up one of those plastic pools in the summer to cool off in.
Gail stands beside me to rinse her dish. I took her to the grocery store this afternoon and we bought ingredients to make tomato soup and grilled cheese. She cooked the noodles to put in the canned tomato soup while I buttered the bread for the grilled cheese. Neither of us is a fabulous cook, but we know how to use a can opener and make something our own.
“I could never get the grass to come back in,” she says, reading my thoughts.“Remember Charlie, our yellow lab?” she continues, and I nod. “He was in that pool more than you kids.” There is sadness mixed in with the happy memory at her use of plurals. She doesn’t mention Ethan direc
