Page 34 - Self Talk

Over the next hour our conversation shifted between catch up and the third degree. Susan wanted to know every detail of my life over the past three years. Her questions peppered the air like BBs and she fired them off like a seasoned reporter. And as usual, she didn't hesitate to insert an opinion or two. It would have been just like old times had it not been for the black turban hiding the aftermath of her chemotherapy.
“Jack, take me for a ride. I'd love to see the leaves,” she begged as her mother appeared in the doorway.
“I don't think that's a good idea, you're far too tired.” Margaret injected.
“You must rest, case closed.” Her tone suggested that I follow Margaret’s lead.