I sat at a little corner table holding a cold turkey sandwich wrapped snugly in clear plastic.

I took one little bite, but the bread sat dry and heavy in my mouth.

I took out my phone and called my mother’s cell to settle the charge quietly before Caleb woke up.

It rang six times and then went straight to an automated voicemail greeting.

“Leave a message for Patricia,” my mother’s recorded voice said in its usual brisk, theatrical tone.

I hung up without leaving a message and laid the phone next to my paper napkin.