“Well, sure,” said Laura. “I’m, uh, glad you like it.” She added, “Did Dad like his?”

“I think so,” her mom replied. “He filled it with coffee and took it with him to class.”

“Wait, instead of his ‘Hummingbirds Do It While Hovering’ mug?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” said Laura.

There was a pause. Then her mother said, “So, how’s it going out there?” She coughed. “We miss you, you know.”

“You do?” Laura bit her tongue, wishing she hadn’t sounded so surprised.

But her mom didn’t get annoyed. Honestly, if Laura had realized how effective handmade items were going to be in creating family rapprochement, she would have been knitting socks for years. “Yes,” said her mom, “we do.” She took an audible breath. “I’m thinking of maybe coming out to visit in early December, what do you think?”

“I think that would be great,” said Laura, surprised to discover it was true.

Hanging up, Laura found herself smiling, looking forward to telling Bob about the conversation. She also wondered what her therapist would make of it. After the first night at Dodger Stadium, Laura had taken a deep breath and reached out to one of the therapists on Maggie’s list. Although they’d begun by focusing on her trouble with driving, they’d quite quickly widened their scope to include other aspects of Laura’s life, including her childhood. Now talking to Shannon was another highlight of her week. Shannon was the softest, gentlest person in the world, carefully listening to everything Laura said, then smilingly asking accurate, incisive questions that crowbarred years of accreted defenses. It was occasionally painful and often exhausting, but Laura felt herself lightening with every session. She and Bob had gone back to Dodger Stadium several times, and now she drove all over the parking lot without a problem.

Laura wasn’t quite sure where she was going . . . but at least she felt she was getting there.

•   •   •

That evening Bob came to dinner looking like the cat who got the cream. He was the last one to arrive, and everyone else was already fighting over the corn bread.

“I’m going to Ithaca,” he said excitedly, pointing at Laura. “You were right!” He sat down and snagged the last piece, despite a final lunge from Polly, who had a thing for corn bread.

“I was?” asked Laura, tipping her head to one side. “About what?” Ithaca rang a bell; what had that conversation been about?

“You joined the army?” guessed Polly.

“You’re going to beauty school?” suggested Anna, grinning.

“You won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay?” asked Libby.