"Alice, here is your cinnamon roll." My mom sat in the recliner. "Mom, what is that expression? Are you going to interrogate me and my cinnamon?" I amusingly said. She was staring at me as if I had forgotten to clean my closet or laundry. 

　　"Oh, I am sorry. I just cannot help myself but pull this face. You know, after hearing the news. It is everywhere." I knew that she would be this worried. Every pause she made to say her feelings out loud calmly was a relief to me. I ...