Chapter 12: The Invitation

Doran's mother sat in the lobby of Maple Court in a wool coat.

Her handbag was on her knees, and a cardboard box stood beside her.

An aide was taping the lid shut.

"Nobody told us the new room," the aide said, not looking up. "I'm sorry. Corporate said today."

"Corporate can say it to me," Hal said, and took the box.

Doran knelt in front of the chair and put his hands over his mother's.

She looked at him for a while with her head tilted.

"You look like my husband," she said politely.

"I'm your son, Mom."

"Are you? He was tall."

"I'm tall."

"Well," she said, and patted his cheek. "I suppose you are."

Doran's jaw tightened, and he bent his head so she wouldn't see.

I stood beside the chair and held her handbag while he got himself under control.

She watched me with bright, interested eyes.

"And who is this?" she asked.

"This is Melina."

"She's very thin. Does she eat?"

"I eat," I said.

"Not enough. I can tell by your wrists."

Hal laughed out loud, and the aide almost did.

"Come on, ma'am," Hal said. "I've got a meatloaf in the oven and a guest room with a window."

"Is it a good meatloaf?"

"It's an edible meatloaf."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Behind the machine shop, Hal owns a small brick bungalow he built the year his wife's knees went.

It has a wide doorway, a ground-floor bedroom with a bathroom, and a porch he hasn't swept since the funeral.

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