We all turned toward my mother. She took a long sip of coffee, but the mug was too small to hide her obvious discomfort. She glanced around at our faces—and finished off her drink.
I sniffed at the foreign smell that wafted from the empty mug. “What kind of coffee is that?” I asked.
“Bourbon,” she said.
Holy crap. Was my mother losing it, or what? Booze. G…
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