“So what was your heart’s desire, Mom?” Her tone sounded challenging. She tried to soften it. “Was there ever something that really got you excited . . . like something you had to have or do?”
“There was.” Roni nodded.
“Art school?” Cory asked, remembering rooms full of stretched canvases in the old house in Massachusetts and the comforting smell of linseed oil when she came home from school. That would mean her mom was upstairs in the sunniest room of the house happily painting.
“No, I loved art, but that wasn’t it.”
Cory thought she would tell her, but instead, she looked down and again fussed with her ratty old robe, pulling off cotton pills.
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