August pulled me into the kitchen and dug around in various cupboards, rummaged in the sideboard for a few bits, and presented me with a wicker picnic basket, checkered blanket and napkins, and a matching set of dishes and utensils. “This was my mother’s,” August said, presenting them to me. I hesitated and August smiled softly. “I think she’d be very happy for you to take them and put them to use. Mom was a big romantic, and she and Daddy always used to have picnics. It’s okay Jack, take them.”
