The distraught owner had detained her for more than an hour as she wept on Cathy’s shoulder. Cathy didn’t know how to tell her that her pain needed to be cut short, because Cathy needed to be home when her son got off the bus. So she had held the woman and let her cry as the moments ticked by. The fact that Mark was out sweeping the driveway when she drove up clued her that something was wrong. He looked up at her as she pulled her car into the garage, and she saw the trepidation on his face. She left everything sitting on her seat and braced herself as she got slowly out of the car. “Mark?” “Hey, Mom,” he said in a dismal voice. “How was your day?” He never asked her how her day had been, and had never cared. She didn’t think he cared now. “Mark, what’s wrong?” He looked offended. “Why do you think something’s wrong?” “Because you’re sweeping. You asked me how my day was.” “You act like I’m lazy and don’t care about anybody but myself.” He threw the broom against the house, as if giving up.
