by for ten minutes. He arrived in his old windbreaker holding a bakery box.
“Your mother didn’t send that?” I asked.
“No,” he said, mildly offended. “I bought cookies.”
I let him in.
We sat in the living room in the evening light and he folded his hands too tightly and finally said he should have said something that day in the driveway. That he had known continue reading …
