It had been, I realized then, a year and a half filled with many odd superstitions that would come over me suddenly—what Joan Didion would call “magical thinking.” All I could focus on was the following nonsensical equation: If the manatees came, it would be a good day. Mom would feel “better.” If they didn’t show, if they had been there before us or came after, then it would be a “not great” day.
