I covered my mouth.
I knew that flower.
Memory carried me back to a day when Mary had been well enough to leave the hospital for a few hours. She had spent the previous week complaining about the food, the walls, and the way everyone spoke to her as though she were made of glass. She wanted one ordinary afternoon.
So I took her shopping for a graduation dress. Aaron came too, pretending he was bored while Mary pulled dress after dress from the racks. She rejected dark colors immediately and complained that anything too plain looked like something a person wore to apologize for taking up space.
When she stepped out of the fitting room in the red dress, she spun in front of the mirror. Her smile was not the polite one she gave nurses and worried relatives. It was the old Mary smile, bright and mischievous and completely alive.
