She clenched her fists and began pumping her arms and jumping up and down, her large breasts bouncing disturbingly.“John promised me. He promised me...you would take care of me. You don’t love me.” My 50-year-old mother, the hardnosed flinty eyed businesswoman, was throwing a tantrum.As I watched the angry red color move up her neck and face, I recalled dad’s admonition to keep her calm. I grabbed her shoulders.“Okay! Okay mom! Just let me call dad, okay?”I picked up my phone and hit dad’s speed. "I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages." Yeah, you're right. Not since James and I passed out after your super bowl party." I yelled back."I need a smoke, come with me?"I followed her out to the deck, grateful that the crowd and the music hadn't reached out here despite it being a sultry August night."I'm so sorry we couldn't make it to James' father's funeral," she continued, "Mine and Adam's schedules have just been so crazy." Don't worry about it," I said. "I know the love is there. More

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