TWENTY-FIVE

Three months before my mother died, she asked me if my publisher dealt with nonfiction. I didn’t understand where she was going with this. I said that they did.

She asked, “Will you show my book to your editor?”

It took me a moment to react. My initial thought was, “What book?” At that time, all that my mother had were random notes scribbled on her yellow flash cards, some of them barely legible.

But I managed to get my bearings fast enough and said: “Of course I will! Of course!”

I thought I was lying to her. But it turned out that I wasn’t.

Note to my editor. My mother’s book is contained in these pages.