The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie

by Rachel Linden

As I ate, I studied her across the table, soaking in her presence like sunshine. She looked older, but her color was pink and healthy, not the waxy hue of that terrible last day. She had always been plump and sturdy. A Danish workhorse, she called herself. She looked classically Scandinavian, with high, wide cheekbones, deep-set green eyes, and that thick wheaten hair. She was not beautiful in the traditional sense, but she was striking; people noticed her. She had a strong presence and radiated an air of capable optimism, a can-do attitude that energized every space she occupied. For as long as I could remember, she’d been the focal point of every room, the center of activity, the queen bee in the middle of every hive.

GOALS

I tried to stay awake, but my eyelids drifted shut, and the last thing I felt was the gentle touch of my mother’s fingertips tracing endless circles on my back.

Crying!