“Remember when you tried to teach me to bake cookies and we set off the smoke alarm?” I asked one afternoon as we walked in her beloved garden.
She laughed, the sound still musical despite her 78 years.
“The neighbors thought the house was on fire. That fireman was so handsome, though… I almost didn’t mind the embarrassment.”
“You flirted with him shamelessly,” I teased.
“Life’s too short not to flirt with handsome firemen, Rebecca.” She patted my hand.
“Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone, don’t waste time on bitterness. Your mother made her choice, and it was the wrong one. But don’t let that choice define your life.”
I felt a chill despite the summer heat.
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