And here it was, the proof that she’d been wrong all these years. Red knew it was coming, just like Mom must have done, on her knees against the concrete, Red on her back against the road. But it wasn’t hate she felt, or regret, or guilt, or blame. They didn’t exist anymore, not here in this place, flickering in and out. She wasn’t thinking about last words, she was thinking about all the words, all the memories. It was love; thorny and complicated and sad and happy. But it was a red feeling too.
