“Congratulations, sweetheart,” I said. “Have a safe flight.”
“Thanks, Mom! Love you! Gotta run!”
He hung up.
I stood there for a long time. The toast went cold. The coffee went cold.
Then I picked up my car keys.
My name is Delia Vance. I’m seventy-one years old.
I was a school secretary for thirty-one years at Bradley Creek Elementary. My husband, Nile, was a carpenter. He built houses for other people his whole life, and then one summer he built one for us.
Cullen is our only child. He’s
