I definitely hadn’t done anything wrong here. And yet, something niggled at my memory. I knew the answer, I’d heard it somewhere. Where?
Icould have Mama live with us.
I could prepare her meals and wash her laundry and fill her pill box with the correct cocktail of medications. I could even make her tea, exactly the way she likes it: black with a lot of mint and a dash of thyme.
What I could not do was sit around and sip that tea with her.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I told her, forcing patience into my voice. “Call me on my cell phone if anything hap— I mean, if you need anything. Charasho? Here’s my number.”
I wrote my number on a napkin in large digits and placed it next to her cup of tea. “And here, have some biscuits.”
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