“They restrained their voices to some degree, erupting now and then out of pure habit. Mike and the boys knew Gabby, but they weren’t exactly close, so the loss was not theirs by any means. It was hers and hers alone. And none of the other women would ever know how much she had lost. Maybe loss wasn’t the right word. Ended was closer. They would never know all that had ended today. She cried through the afternoon and then at four o’clock, like an automaton, she zapped a roast and then threw it i...n the oven to finish cooking, boiled potatoes and carrots, heated buns and tore up lettuce, all through the narrow slits of her swollen eyes. Barbara Ann had the survival skills of a mother of four wild boys; she could do everything fast and many things at once. She could condense the cooking of a four-hour meal into forty minutes, and while the microwave purred, she collected a pile of dirty clothes. On her way to the laundry room, she wiped the hair and spit out of a bathroom sink with a T-shirt.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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