11

I went home. My mother was lying on the sofa, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, an open album in her hands.

- Hi Mom. “I kissed her on the forehead. 'I brought you a Cornish pastry and a new tarot deck.' I thought you and Cynthia would like to try my luck.

She didn't answer, her eyes barely registering my presence. My gaze fell on the photo album and I was surprised to realize the photographs weren't of my father. It was me and Ben. Pictures of us smiling under the family Christmas tree, walking along Hadrian's Wall last summer, marching in a student protest against the Iraq War. From each image, Ben's animated face smiled at me. My heart pounded. Why was she doing this to herself?

“Pietra. Mom blinked. Fresh tears rolled down her face. She reached out and hugged me with thin, weak arms. - Are you well? Did you come home to be with me?

"I'm just here to take a shower and pick up a few things." I'm living at the farm for the next three weeks, remember?

—Oh! ’ Her face fell. She clea