“He seems less shallow than I expected,” my mother observed.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Though whether that’s enough to weather this crisis with Amber remains to be seen.”
“That’s their journey now,” Helen said firmly. “Yours lies elsewhere.”
She patted my hand.
“South,” she added, “toward sunshine and salt air and a life where you’re not constantly bankrolling other people’s dreams.”
Sunday morning arrived with the soft clarity that follows a storm—both the literal thunderhead that had passed through overnight and the emotional tempest of the previous day.
I awoke early,
