Not one phone call.

Not one card.

No drive-by, no proxy, no cousin in Ohio sent to soften me up, no envelope through Chelsea, no gift, no flowers on the birthday, nothing.

My mother had been served in front of a bride from Auburn and her entire entourage, and she had thanked the deputy, and then she had gone completely, immaculately silent for seven hundred and thirty days.

That should have felt like safety.

It felt like the pressure drop before weather.