He looked pensive, maybe sad. She murmured, “Your mother and father are dead aren’t they?”Cal didn’t take his gaze off the graves, “My fathe...’s not dead. He lives in town. Has a nice house, a wife and family. I have a younger sister.” He stopped talking.She asked, “Your mother? What about her?”Cal looked at Maureen, “My mom’s dead; died when I was in the second grade.”Maureen looked back at the graves, “Do you remember much about your mother? When your father and mother divorced?”Before Cal. There was lots of licking of lips and fingertips to remove the jam and sugar which encrusted them; it's physiologically impossible to eat a jam doughnut neatly, and you waste far too much jam if you cut it into bite-sized chunks on your plate.My ever-loving sister kindly blabbed to my friends about a time years earlier when Dad had brought home some jam doughnuts, and her greedy elder brother had sunk his fangs into one without checking where the hole was. Cue much of the jam returning under. More

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