I rushed over to Doris McIntosh. Her family had lived down the road from mine for years. Our fathers shared a tractor. Our mothers shared everything else. Or at least they had before. Mrs. McIntosh had not been keen on Helen. But Doris and I had not let that stop us from being friends. I embraced her, breathing in the scent of old towels.
The name Doris is a nod to my paternal grandmother, just as Melissa is my maternal granddmother and Kathryn my husband's grandmother.
