“He took his gold signet ring off again and set it right on the dashboard,” she whispered.

“My flight boards in twenty-five minutes, Mom,” I said.

“Are you ever going to come home for Thanksgiving, Iris?” she asked.

An automated announcement over the terminal intercom called out a gate change for the afternoon flight to Denver.

A young family with a double stroller walked past my table, the small plastic wheels squeaking loudly on the tile floor.

“I’m not coming back for Thanksgiving, Mom,” I said.