They had begun to chatter to each other as they passed the large pharmacy window with its large display of mouth-watering tarts, colorful selection of candies and every kind of chocolate one could imagine. Neither had any money so they lingered only a while pointing out their favorites, then moved a long.

After they’d left Main street and crossed the highway by the red-painted walking bridge, they turned up Crescent Avenue. The air turned cool in the shade of the elm, hickory and oak archway lining the street. Passing Emerson’s they peeked over the picket fence to see if their miniature poodle, Cancer, (named for the sign not the disease) was about, but he wasn’t.

Mrs. Winter, the oldest person they knew, sat rocking in a chair on her front porch while her grandson pulled weeds from the tidy flower beds. He looked up when Josie and Matthew passed and waved.

Between Mrs. Winter’s house and their own lived the Richmonds, the Gathers, the Fitzsimmons, the Bintners and the Lees. All the homes were older, sturdy structures, painted neatly in warm, cozy colors, with shutters and trim that cleanly and brightly accented the homes. Flowers beds were filled with riots of color and lawns were a crisp, manicured green with no dandelions.

At the end of the block on a small, dry swatch, was the Taratova home. It was white with black shutters. Some paint was peeling along the trim but it was otherwise well kept. The porch was small; no room for a swing. An aging Horizon hatchback sat in a gravel drive along the side of the house. The lawn, though not completely brown, was not the vibrant green the rest of the neighborhood sported and was scattered with polka dots of yellow.

Josie held a hand up to Matthew as they approached the front step. “I’ll go first,” she whispered. “Go take care of your bird.” Matthew nodded and walked around the side of the house.

When he was gone, Josie walked softly up the steps and across the porch. She gazed through the screen door, cupping her hands around her eyes. Her eyes tracked around the dim room; the afghan folded neatly over the back of an overstuffed arm chair; a pillow tucked into each corner of the sofa; the t.v. turned off. She pulled open the screen door slowly and stepped into the room. Looking behind the front door she noted her mother’s sweater hanging from the hook.

She listened for a moment, cocking her ear toward the back of the house. Nothing. Crossing the front room she entered a hall and leaned into the kitchen doorway on her right. The faucet dripped. The refrigerator hummed. Light streamed through the open back door. All four yellow vinyl chairs were pushed in around the yellow Formica topped table.

Josie sighed. She felt her throat begin to tighten. Taking a fortifying breath she returned to the dark hall and treaded deeper into the house. The two bedrooms on the left were the children’s. The door on the far right was the bathroom. The door at the very end of the hall was her mother’s. The hall seemed to become a long tunnel. The blood pumped loudly in her ears and the walls seem to thicken around her.

Sometimes she and Matthew would take this walk together, holding each others hands, their grip becoming tighter as they went. Sometimes though, Josie took on the burden herself. As she arrived at the door, she raised her hand and softly knocked. When there was no answer, Josie’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Squeezing her eyes shut and saying a little prayer she knocked on the door again, this time more loudly. “Mama?”

From behind the door she heard a hoarse, “Come in.”

Turning the knob, Josie let the door creak open. There lying on her side on top of the bedspread her mother struggled to sit up as her daughter entered the room. “I was only napping,” she explained.

“I know,” Josie said as she scanned the room.

“I promise, I was only napping. Now help me up.” She held out a hand and Josie took it, and pulled as her mother’s swollen legs lifted up then flopped down at the side of the bed as she came to a seated position. As her mother exhaled Josie caught a whiff of her breath and was convinced her mother was only napping.

Relief flooded through Josie and her body nearly sagged as the tension left. Sadly, Josie looked at her mother. She had the brightest blue eyes, but set in the folds of fat around them they didn’t seem nearly as beautiful as Josie knew they were. Her mother had grown so enormous that it amazed Josie what her mother did accomplish every day. She cleaned four houses a day, five days a week. She kept her own simple home as neat as she could, and she kept her children clothed and fed. As dearly as she loved her children, at the end of the day, her cravings would catch up to her. But, not today it would seem.

Josie handed her mother her slippers. “I’ll start supper,” she said as she left the room. Her mother’s blue eyes followed Josie down the hall. When Josie turned into the kitchen, she reached in to the pocket of her blouse and pulled out a small chocolate bar. Her jowl quivered as a tear fell down her cheek. She crushed it in her meaty fist, the wrapper popping open on one end.