“Day.” I catch and hold her eyes, touching her shoulder gently. “She made limoncello pound cake.” “She did? That’s my favorite. Aunt Byrd’s the only one who ever made it for me.” “I know, but I’m sure your mom found the recipe in Byrd’s notebook and wanted to try.” “Oh.” She bites her lip. “Okay.” “Can you just be kind to your mother for me?” “Even if it tastes like crap, you mean? Just fake it?” “You remember that ashtray you made when you were in second grade?” “Yeah.” She grins up at me. “It’s on your desk at work.” “It’s hideous.”
