Her brown eyes glisten with unshed tears when they sweep over a lacquered dresser against a wall. On top are photos of her son wrapped in a cocoon of his loving family. As they laugh and dance in front of the cameras during an earlier trip abroad, Abigail sighs as it rekindles old memories that shuffle through her brain like a deck of cards.
With no further delay, she walks to her son’s bedside and scrutinizes his handsome face. Though his eyes are closed, when awake, the corners crinkle when he smiles, and the pure radiance lights up the room for all the world to see.
“I love you.” “I am here,” she whispers in his ear and kisses his pale cheek.
Gently, she cradles his head in one hand and fluffs his pillow with the other. She then runs her hand over the soft bristles of his fair hair and lightly massages his scalp and neck.
She wonders if he is cold. She reaches for the blanket folded at the end of the bed and covers him with it.
Abigail opens the top drawer of a nightstand that stands by the bed and removes a collection of popular travel guides to Italy.
“Fasten your seatbelt, son. We are on our way,” she says as she curls up in a bedside recliner, the travel guides in her lap, her head against the backrest, and begins to read out loud. Later that morning, she fails to notice a turn of a head, a faint smile, or a tear that rolls down a cheek.
And there is Millie, still by her side.