It felt good being with her, sharing a meal, loving her. He pulled up to his aunt and uncle’s ranch-style home and spotted his Aunt Bertha’s car. His aunts had been meeting every Sunday afternoon to quilt together. They’d been making quilts for cancer patients for the last eight years. It all started as a tribute to Jonathan’s mother Ruth, who died of breast cancer when he was nine years old. The quilts had become so popular that they decided to continue making them and donating them to the hospice center that took care of his mother. Using his own key to the front door of the ranch-style house, he walked in calling out, “Hey, I’m here.” He followed the sound of their voices to the kitchen. “You’re late,” Marc said when Jonathan walked into the kitchen. “I was tied up.” “I heard,”
