In the middle of a phone conversation today, my mother asked me, "How's that boy doing?"

"Tony? Mom, he died more than a year ago. I remember telling you."
I was standing in front of the kitchen sink when I said this to her,
because it seemed just a little warmer there.
I had abandoned the crossword puzzle at the kitchen table.

"That's right," she said, "I remember. Drug overdose?"

"It was a car accident." I didn't want to talk about it a second time.

Nor did I say anything about the accident outside of Phoenix, even though she'd known both boys.

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