Chapter 93: My husband's last advice

QUINN

"Is it raining?"

I looked up from my book when Nate spoke, his voice laden with drowsiness. "Yes. It has been all day. Perfect weather for curling up with a good book ...or napping. So between us, we've got this covered."

"Hmm." He turned his head, blinking at the gray light filtering into the bedroom. "It's so cold. Feels like it should be snow."

I reached over to tuck the heavy comforter more securely around Nate's legs. "The temperature's not quite low enough here for snow, but I bet they're getting some of the white stuff up at home."

"Yeah. Maybe." He glanced over my shoulder. "Where's Mom?"

I bit my lip, swallowing back a surge of unease. "She and your dad drove up to see Leo's game today. The Rebels are playing in Philly." We talked about this last night. Don't you remember? I didn't say the words, because they would accomplish nothing. A nurse and a social worker from hospice had come to talk with us last week, and one of the signs of progression they'd mentioned