“Blueberry pancakes,” Alan said.
Rachel thought for a second. “No, blueberry jam.”
“Blueberry jam on blueberry pancakes?”
“Okay, agreed. That was Mom’s best.”
Rachel smiled and plucked a blueberry from the wild bushes that dotted the hill beside their childhood home. She popped it into her mouth and was surprised by its tartness. Her pursed lips stretched into a sad smile.
Alan recognized her smile as the same one their mother wore as she watched her children leave home in a domino effect that left the house like a forgotten museum.
“Not the same as you remember?”
“No, it really isn’t.”
Alan squeezed Rachel’s hand as they descended the hill.