At Tom's voice, she relaxed somewhat."Sorry, love. I didn't say what time I'd get in, did I? We're in the Colne now. I should be with you by midnight....Don't wait up, will you?"Half relieved to hear him, half cross he would be so late, she just said, "Take care, Tom," before hanging up. She covered the bowls of salad, made herself some tea and sat down with her guitar, a tune running through her head, words coming, unbidden, to fit it. Words written in the nineteenth century by Elizabeth Barrett. ”“Would you eat four-day-old pizza for me?”“Sausage or pepperoni?”“Both.”“Y-Y-Y-Yes.”“Would you run through the mall in your underwear?”“What day?”“Sunday…”“Well, it’s a bit sacrilegious, but yes.”“Would you run down the beach in just one of my thongs?”“Day or night?”“Mid-day.”“What color thong?”“Red.”“Certainly.”Mom smiled and giggled again and then the smile slowly left her face.It made you just wanna hold her and rock her in your arms until all this bullshit about my father was just a. More

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