“I’m going to give you one that belonged to my son. A welcome present.”
Luisa’s son had died in his teens.
“It is a good quilt. Many happy memories inside, many happy dreams.”
“A quilt with happy dreams?” Terrance asked skeptically.
Luisa tilted her head back and looked down her nose sternly. It was a very effective look. “You doubt my word?”
“No.” He cut into his steak before asking, “Where’s your son now?”
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