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Weekly Contest #340
Ellie hadn’t expected to recognize her mother. Years—decades—had passed since she was the young Gena in pictures Ellie would dig out of the box in her dad’s closet, so when envisioning their first meeting Gena was always crooked-backed and gray. Sunken. A remnant of a life, even though Ellie would have known to answer, if asked, that her mother was only fifty-two. But when her mother had finally emerged from the old Toyota she’d parked against the funeral home’s curb, Ellie had known her—her face, anyway—immediately. Even under the maple’s s...
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