Poppies. She used to pick them for him as he sat dormant and quiet in his rocking chair with a blanket over his rickety knees, eyes wide open and stark like he’d seen something horrid. She had such tenderness in her eyes as she smoothed back his thinning hair and planted a soft kiss on his wrinkled skin.

Peter used to cycle by their house on his way to school. Mrs. Pickles’ house was the most ele...