I turned on the warm tap and picked up the last white ceramic dinner plate from the counter.

I ran the soapy sponge around the rim, rinsed the plate under the clean running water, and stood it in the wooden drying rack by the window.

The kitchen was quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

“Mom?” Bennett called down the hall.

I turned off the faucet.

“I’m right here, Bennett,” I said.

“Are you coming up to read the train book?” he called back.

“I’m coming right now,” I said.

I took the clean cloth towel off the stove handle and dried my hands, running the cotton over my fingers as I headed for the light glowing in Bennett’s doorway.