Four days after the funeral, Caleb shuffled into the kitchen while I was scrambling eggs.
“Mom, my back hurts.”
“From baseball practice?” I asked.
“Maybe. It started last night.”
I checked him carefully. No bruising, no swelling. I rubbed ointment into his lower back.
“You probably pulled something,” I said. “Try stretching before bed.”
The next morning, he stood pale and frustrated in my doorway.
“Mom, I can’t sleep in my bed. It hurts to lie on the mattress.”
That stopped me.
I went into his room. The bed looked perfectly normal. I pressed down on the mattress. The frame and slats were intact.
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