The box of blankets, quilts and sheets that his mom wanted dropped off at Samaritan Hospice had been taped up and waiting for him since Easter. But he hated going back to the place where his dad died, didn’t want a minute of the pink-purple walls or the gray carpets. Didn’t want anything to do with those smells ever again.But his mom had asked and his sisters had the excuse of child/husband-rearing duties to plead their way out of the obligation. When he stopped by to pick it up, there were three more boxes of donations to the hospice. One full of rocks, Jamie decided as he lugged it toward his truck.“We put all the books in that one,” his mother pointed out helpfully.“Great.” Jamie grunted as he hoisted it onto the tailgate.“And this one.” The smaller box was still heavier. “The hardbacks and large print,” she explained.If the next box followed suit, it was going to be a large hernia. Jamie tried a dead lift and almost flipped over backward.“Sweaters.”“Mom.”
