I Watched a Biker Fall to His Knees in a Graveyard Screaming a Child’s Name

”

He looked up at me for the first time.

His eyes were the kind of blue that looks almost gray. Red-rimmed and swollen. A three-day beard, mostly silver. A scar through his left eyebrow. A face that had been through weather and trouble and the kind of grief that doesn’t wash off.

“She was my granddaughter,” he said. “Emily. She was four.”

I sat down on continue reading …