He did not wait for me to answer. He turned and walked down the hallway, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him a moment later.
The school registrar’s office was drafty by mid-morning, the radiators clanking behind the tall green filing cabinets. By eleven-thirty, the metal folding chair behind my desk felt like a sheet of ice pressing into my spine, and every time I reached for another student registration folder, my lower back flared with a dull, sickening heat.
The office door opened, the brass bell above the frame chiming twice, and my mother Mabel walked in carrying a brown paper bag that smelled of roasted turkey and cranberry. She wore her old navy cardigan, the one with the stretched pockets, and her face was set in that quiet, st
