Jude’s during Nora’s final months, carrying a large cardboard box wrapped in butcher paper and tied with string.

I stood to greet them, and there were handshakes and warm hellos, and Margaret turned to my mother with genuine pleasure.

“Mrs.

Evelyn, you look radiant,” she said.

“This place agrees with you far better than the city ever did.” My mother laughed softly and said it was the fresh air and her son’s cooking, and offered to pour fresh tea, and there was for a moment the easy comfortable warmth of people who have been through something together and come out the other side as something like family.

“Don’t worry about the tea, Evelyn,” Sarah said, and she set the heavy box down carefully on the gazebo table.