“Her boots got wet in the driveway,” I said.

My mother, Margaret, came out of the kitchen holding a folded cloth napkin.

She straightened her linen collar with both hands, then smoothed the napkin flat against her apron.

“Set them on the rubber tray beside the umbrella stand,” Margaret said.

“I spent forty minutes waxing this oak floor on Tuesday.”

“Where’s Evan?” Margaret asked, her voice measured and formal.

“He came down with a fever this morning,” I said.