Chapter 212: Sedona Is Coming Back To Chicago
SEDONA
We stayed on the line for another few minutes after that. The conversation found its way to ordinary things—the texture of ordinary, the small daily details that are the substance of a child's life. He told me about a project at school involving maps, which apparently he had opinions about. He told me that Mrs. Peterson had made the soup I'd written the recipe for—the one for when Nick had a sore throat, the ginger one—because he'd come home with a scratchy voice earlier in the week, and that it had been the right soup.
"She followed the recipe," he said.
"I know. I gave it to her."
"She did it right." He said it with the seriousness of someone assessing craftsmanship. "It tasted like yours."
That pressed against me again.
"Good,"
