“Hey, Dad. You doing okay?”

Rand took several breaths, hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, and studied the mountain before answering. “I was mad.”

The others took their cue from Mitch and waited.

“Just don’t see how anyone could ever treat June like that,” Rand said. “Made me want to wring Ethan’s neck. If I would’ve known at the time . . .”

Mitch peered at his father’s face, remembering what Frank had said about loving the church no matter what she did. His dad hadn’t been angry about his wife having a child without him. About her keeping it a secret. He’d been angry at how she’d been hurt.

“How’s Mom today? After all that?”

Rand looked down. “I’m afraid she’s not doing so good.”

Ken frowned. “What’s the matter? Is she sick?”

“Mebbe.”

Mitch’s heart sank. He and Bea had both worried last night that his mom had overdone it. “Where is she?”

“Inside. On the couch. You can go on in, but don’t expect much.”

A feeling of irony stung Mitch as he watched Ken hurry into the house. It wasn’t fair. To be reunited with your mother, to learn she’d never forgotten you all this time, only to watch her memories fade away.

They all crowded into the house and shuffled to find seats. Ken and Bea joined his mom on the couch, one on each side.

She smiled at them politely, as if they were strangers on the train. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Ken fidgeted like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Do you remember me?”

“Hmm.” She tilted her head, eyeing him intently. “Aren’t you that nice boy from the Food Farm? The one they hired for the meat counter?”

“No, Mom. It’s Ken. Uh, Marshall.”

“Ken Marshall? Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Juniper.” She patted his knee. “I’m sorry, I thought you were Todd. From the meat counter.”

Mitch gave his dad a quizzical look and whispered, “Todd?”

Rand shrugged. “I think there was a man there named Todd when we were kids.”

Mitch felt like he’d been punched. He wasn’t prepared for this. Wasn’t ready. His mother’s deterioration was supposed to be more gradual. He was supposed to have more time to figure out a way to come to grips with it.

Ken was right. He was losing her.

For half an hour, Ken and Bea asked his mother questions and tried to explain who they were. She smiled graciously, nodded her head, and said, “Aren’t you a character?” while the dread in Mitch’s heart grew far and wide. His shoulders tightened. “Far and wide as the open arms of Jesus,” as his mother would say.