33
“You okay, hon?”
“Fine, Mama.” Through a day and another night home, John still hadn’t puzzled out what he was feeling. Connie had shot his blood pressure to the moon twice in as many minutes, then he’d barely seen her for twenty-four hours.
He poked at his breakfast, but he hadn’t slept well last night and his heart wasn’t in it. Again, by the time he dragged himself up, everyone was gone except his mom.
“You don’t look so fine, Johnny.”
Without thinking about it, he snagged her around the waist and pulled her against him. She raised the hot fry pan she’d been serving him from so that she didn’t burn him as he sat at the kitchen table. He breathed in the smells of home. A fresh-washed apron, flour, cooking oil, something sweet and something like forever, the smells that were alway
