With Tessa back in Chicago, Mom being well cared for in rehab, my worries about Dad abated, and Killer settled, I had time to wonder why Samantha hadn’t called me, or at least sent a text to say eff-off. I stopped by to have breakfast with Mom. I figured I could endure the runny, scrambled eggs if she could. She introduced me to her table mates, three women in their eighties, one who kept falling asleep in her chair. I prayed that I’d never have to stay in a place like this and wondered how M...