There was only one person I could think of to call: my mother’s best friend, who, if still living, would now be in her early nineties. My mother had had very few close friends. Her friendships tended to end in hurt feelings and recriminations. Yet Charlotte, whom she had known since they were college sorority sisters, had remained. I remembered her as kind, sensible, loyal—a temperament that nicely offset my mother’s penchant for drama.
