My mother, Rose Sterling, gripped the edge of the fountain.
Her blue dress was soaked.
Gray strands of hair clung to her face.
It was the same dress she had worn to my very first business award ceremony.
She had altered it three different times because she refused to let me buy her a new one.
I started down the staircase.
Vivian noticed me immediately.
She smiled with complete confidence.
She was certain I would rescue her from embarrassment.
“Nathan, darling,” she said sweetly.
“Your mother slipped.”
My mother looked at me.
She didn’t ask for help.
She never had.
Not when we slept above a laundromat where rats scratched inside the walls.
Not when she worked overnight cleaning office buildings so I could finish school.
Not when wealthy men wearing gold watches laughed and insisted boys from our neighborhood would never own companies.
I reached the fountain.
Removed my jacket.
And wrapped it gently around her shoulders.
