“Jaime Banks, here, take this! It’s my favorite…”

Gay Spencer came out of her room with a blanket and handed it to me on my way upstairs. I had come to visit them for a couple of days and was glad to have finally arrived a little earlier after driving in the rain and getting lost on the way from Dallas.

I took the blanket, double-thick, soft, and heavy. I went up to Jaymie’s old room, laid it out on the bed, set my things down on the floor, and went back downstairs to sit at the bar, eat oatmeal with Jay, and catch up on life till late.

And then I slept well, under all that weight and warmth; I don’t even remember dreaming.

Days later, I’m still thinking about that blanket. Even more than something set aside for a guest, it was her very own.

“Love” — what does it mean? Something like this, I think:

Here, take this. It’s my favorite…