Tru Parker - Today
REDWOOD TREES BLURRED, BECOMING a long streak of auburn brown as the winding road took us out of the forest, away from the twins' house and from everything I didn't want to think about or admit. Unfortunately, the distance didn't seem to ease the familiar pressure building in my chest.
An image of my mom suddenly came to mind. She was bent over some paperwork in the living room wearing her disappointed face. Or had it been sad? With my new perspective, I challenged the memory and thought that maybe I'd been wrong. It had been a few weeks before her death and I'd assumed that she'd been grading papers, which often made her irritated. I'd avoided her that night. Had she been writing a letter to Caroline? Or to me? I'd never know now.