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Bo halved a round of the kielbasa and ate and followed it with a swig of beer. He took two more mouthfuls and laid the utensils on the side of the plate. He pointed to her finger. Is it bad?
Just some glass. I'll be fine.
He pulled the plate with the nut roll on it toward him and finished the slice in four bites, dusted his fingertips, and wiped his mouth on a napkin.
Is Aunt Sue going to want a turn at the casket tonight?
I don't know, Bo. She's asleep upstairs.
He watched her eyes move from the clock to the unlit hallway, then back to his plate. Have you had enough? she asked.
Yes, he said.
She stood and kept her hand flat on the table as she rose, her body bent toward it like she was listening still. She took the plate and placed it on the counter and turned back to her son.
Will you walk me past the living room?
He took her arm and pushed in the chair and they moved down the hallway to the foyer. At the foot of the staircase she reached for the newel post, paused, and said, Let Aunt Sue rest. You stay with him. As long as you can, at least.
He nodded and she whispered, Thank you, and walked up the stairs with her hand leading along the banister.
Excerpted from The Signal Flame by Andrew Krivák. Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Krivák. Excerpted with permission by Scribner, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc
No pleasure is worth giving up for the sake of two more years in a geriatric home.
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