The one with the daughter in the hospital. The one who can't stop drinking. The one who followed her kid out to Chicago and stayed. The one who checked in from Vancouver. The one who sent her kids off to college and broke up with her boyfriend as soon as she got home. The one who cut her own hair. The one who had a heart attack and retired from teaching early. The one whose wife took their kid and their dog and moved back home to her mother up north. The one who buried her husband. The one living in a tent in her own front yard somewhere outside of Lawrence. The one who moved to Oregon. The one who sat with her dad in the chemo ward, watching TV. The one who's chasing a woman who's not his wife. The one who felt a lump in her breast. The one with the ashes in the urn in the closet, beside the shoes. The one driving back from Atlanta. The one sleeping in his father's old bed. The one who promised. The one who swore and promised. The one who tried, the one you never would have thought. The one you never would have figured.
