The Major in the Kitchen — The Night Wendell Pruitt’s Story Fell Apart

Then the door opened.

Mom was wearing an apron dusted with flour.

Her hair had gone a little grayer.

She looked tired from cooking, but it was a satisfied kind of tired.

“There you are,” she said.

“I was about to send out a search party.”

“You know I’m capable of finding the door.”

“Then come through it and help with the gravy.”