She comes into the kitchen like everything is normal and he supposes, to her, things are. He still doesn't know what to think or say or do and he just sits there, listening to her talk, unable to answer her question because he knows whatever he tries to say isn't going to be about how he's feeling or about the cookies, not when her letter is sitting right there, staring him in the face.

He thinks maybe he should address things calmly, ask her why she felt the need to write the letter, but that seems silly. He understands why she felt the need to write it, he thinks if he had been in the same position, if he'd been that worried about infection, about possibly dying, he would have wanted to leave something for Spencer to have after he was gone. So he understands, but he's angry, too.

And when he finally does speak, what he says isn't what he expected at all.

"Why don't you know where your mother lives?"