Chapter 34 - The Yellow Mug
Adrian sent me a message from Vermont: I broke the yellow mug.
At first I thought it was code for another catastrophe. Then a photograph arrived showing ceramic pieces wrapped in newspaper.
Leo had been furious. Dorothy said he'd refused breakfast and accused his uncle of throwing away the last thing his mother had given him.
“Did you try to buy him another?” I asked when Adrian called.
“I offered to buy ten. That made it worse.”
I closed my eyes. “Of course it did.”
“What would you have done?”
“Asked why he cared about that particular mug. Let him be angry. Maybe helped him keep the pieces if they can be stored safely.”
Another silence. Then Adrian said, “He told me his mother used to warm milk in it when he couldn't sleep.”
“And?”
“I apologized. Dorothy found a little tin for the pieces.”
He sounded as if he'd negotiated a merger with gravity itself.
“Good,” I said. “Don't replace the memory. Make room for it.”
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The next morning a picture of the tin appeared on my phone. A paper label had been fixed to its lid: LEO'S YELLOW MUG. DO NOT THROW AWAY.
I looked at the photograph for a long time. It contained no triumph, and that was why I trusted it.
