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Grief has a funny way of sneaking up on you. It’s like one day you’re out getting groceries or something, and then wham! It punches you in the middle of the chest, or maybe the solar plexus, and it would bring you to your knees if you weren’t afraid of dropping the eggs.
It’s a good thing Lonna was driving when it happened to me. Leo snoozed in the backseat, still in his lupine form. I was watching the road signs as I used to when I was little, looking at the towns we passed, their posted populations, and trying to remember which had been the smallest when I had been a lot smaller. For a moment, I was back there with my mother, her perfectly manicured hands tight on the wheel, her knuckles white, and her teeth clenched with the desire to be away from “that godforsaken place.” It seeme
