The blue umbrella wasn’t expensive. It had a wooden handle, a silver button that stuck, and Darren’s slanted handwriting inside the strap because Eli used to lose everything when he was little.
But he never lost that umbrella.
Darren had bought it two months before his illness took him. Since then, Eli carried it everywhere.
“What do you mean, gone?” I asked.
Eli swallowed. “Sorry, Mom. I gave it to someone.”
“You gave it away? What about…”
His chin dipped.
For a second, I wasn’t proud. I wasn’t gentle. I was a tired widow staring at another empty space where my husband used to be.
“Eli, that was from your dad.”
“I know.”
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