Hazel's mom, Henley, crossed to the small sink on the side of the little motel room. She and Roman were set up in one of the motel’s small suites, which had tiny kitchens in them.
"I need to do some dishes. Want to help?" she called over her shoulder.
My natural response would be to pass and make a break for it before she could glare at me anymore. But I suppressed it and met her at the small sink. There weren't too many dishes, but there was no dishwasher.
She washed two dishes in silence, handing them to me when they were clean. I dried them and put them away, having to rifle through the four cupboards dedicated to the kitchen to put them away.
The moment felt like déjà vu. Up until she died, I'd helped my mom with the dishes almost every night when I was a kid. It had stopped when I
