“What happened to her?” I asked. “How did she die, and why doesn’t anyone talk about it?”
At once, his entire demeanor shifted, closing off, growing hard. “Ask me anything in the world that you want to know about your mother. About me. About our life together. But do not ask me that. I will not relive those moments. The worst of my entire life.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” Regret surged within me. I had so many questions about her death, but… I didn’t want to hurt my father. I had just as many, if not more questions about her while she had been alive. “I have other questions. What was her favorite thing to bake?”
“Ah,” George said, and seemed to come back to life again. “Yes. That I can remember.”
As we talked, I was careful not to broach the topic of my mot
