Cold Fingers
We slowly walked back to the house. When we arrived, my mom was sitting on the front porch. She was looking down to her feet. She saw we were walking up and she looked up and stood.
"Jo," she began.
"Mom, no. I can't," I said before she could say anything else.
She stood in front of me. She looked into my eyes then smiled. "You have definitely grown up, kiddo," she said. I nodded.
"Mom," I began, "why can't you just come live down here? There's a vacant house next door and--"
"No, I don't belong in a big city like this, it's not for me," she explained.
Within the next few hours, she took a train back to the old town. We went to the train station with her and said goodbye. She didn't look back, I could tell she would cry if she did. But, she didn't.
That was the last I would see her for quite awhile. I knew that.
We got back to the house late. I walked into my room and leaned against the crib, where Claire was sleeping. I only smiled at felt her soft hair against my cold fingers.
