Back home at their little cottage on the lake, it only took minutes for the smell of coffee and bacon to fill the kitchen. Aunt Flory wedged herself into the rocker on the front porch to watch a flock of White-crowned Sparrows sorting through seed at the feeder. Zoey brought her a steaming mug of coffee and took the seat across from her. A single sunbeam squeezed through the trellis, its soft light transforming the mole under Aunt Flory's right collarbone into a translucent pearl. Zoey smiled at the memory of sitting in her lap as a child, absent-mindedly rolling the coffee-colored flesh between her tiny fingers, its doughy texture tasting vaguely of cinnamon.
Zoey lifted Aunt Flory's feet into her lap and slipped off her shoes, surprised to find her ankles thick from the walk. She gently
