I swear sometimes she steeped wisdom in that cup. Sipping methodically as she listened to the conversation. Never judging, always hearing the story, as if only the truth was spoken. It would impart upon the story teller the need to be honest. No matter how painful.
I’m sure that cup was full the day Maggie, her only daughter, told her she was with child.
Fragile china, the cup had held the heat of whatever was poured, much like Ann McCabe, a reminder that forgiveness and understanding sometimes need to be steeped.