Today I went to see my mother at Oak Park Senior Care, convinced she didn’t belong there. “I had no choice,” my sister said. “She almost burned the house down! And the police brought her home last week wearing nothing but a robe and slippers.” I was skeptical, so I
She buckled Robby into the back seat of her old, beaten-up Honda. A wayward child, he was not to be trusted riding shotgun. The two drove for some time, highway markers rushing by. Robby rolled down the window and tossed one of his shoes. Clapped his hands, mad with glee.