Irene lay curled in her recliner, her mom's afghan hanging at her feet. Nate picked it up, shook it, then placed it over her, tucking it, around her shoulders the way she liked it. She was the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen. Always had been, even back when they were kids and all he could think to do was to tease her about her tiny size and huge fawnlike eyes. There had never been a day when he hadn't had it for Irene Lucinda Crain. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, ran a finger down her cheek, hoping she'd wake so they could watch the sun light the mountains and he could take her hand and tell her all the ways he had tried to save their son, and then all the damn ways he'd failed. 

- The crying tree

       Irene lay curled in her recliner, her mom's afghan hanging at her feet. Nate picked it up, shook it, then placed it over her, tucking it, around her shoulders the way she liked it. She was the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen. Always had been, even back when they were kids and all he could think to do was to tease her about her tiny size and huge fawnlike eyes. There had never been a day when he hadn't had it for Irene Lucinda Crain. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, ran a finger down her cheek, hoping she'd wake so they could watch the sun light the mountains and he could take her hand and tell her all the ways he had tried to save their son, and then all the damn ways he'd failed. 

- The crying tree