My older sister Nancy and I walk down the street together. In our hands are plastic grocery bags that smell like shame and old onions. We are going trick-or-treating. I know we're getting too old fo ... [+]
Dapper in a topcoat and tails, feet moving fast and graceful as birds skimming still waters, he whirled and swooped, catching my mother, still young and slim, by the waist, bending her backward. She laughed, lips parted, mouth open, teeth even and gleaming. Light tangoed down her black curls. He woke, his limbs lifeless. He could no more have moved them than stopped the sun in its arc across the sky. He could not even raise his hand to wipe the sleep from his eyes. My mother sat by his side, watching, waiting. Her hair was grey, her face lined as a skinned week-old apple. In her hand was an en