“Mom?” I whispered, not because I’d arranged for a rendezvous with her ghost on the riverbank, but because the word itself, when spoken aloud, alone, could sometimes be a comfort, I'd found, a balm between me and the world, though in real life she’d seldom soothed me. In real life I was the one who'd soothed her...
I Don’t Think I’ll Miss You Much – Novel Excerpt
