There was just my mother, her friends, a table laid for too many people, and a home that belonged to the person whose name was on the deed.

During dinner Ellen raised a glass to everyone who had worked on the year’s home repairs.

Denise raised hers to Ruth, who had spent more hours checking receipts than any volunteer should have to.

Mom blushed and told them to stop making a fuss.

Later she walked me to the porch.

The evening was cool, and stars shone over the quiet street.

“I used to think I needed someone strong in this house,” she told me.