I finally gor around to reading Joan Didion’s Year of Magical Thinking over a weekend near the end of October. When I was done, I put the book down on an end table, not sure whether I should give it a home back on my bookshelf, or pass it on to a friend.
The next day, I found Declan sitting on the bed with it in his hands, leafing through the pages as though he was reading.
“Are you reading mommy’s book?” I asked him.
“I am,” he said. “It’s about words. I like words.”
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